


Hetalia Hunger Games

by breakdancingsigma (hetawholockvengerstuck)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: F/M, Hunger Games AU, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-25
Updated: 2016-02-25
Packaged: 2017-12-12 06:25:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 26,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/808335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hetawholockvengerstuck/pseuds/breakdancingsigma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In District 12, Lovina Vargas hunts for herself and her family. She stands in for her sister, only to find out that her fellow tribute is the only other person she truly cares about.</p><p>In District 7, Elizaveta is torn from her boyfriend and sent to the Capitol with the one boy she hates--and, perhaps, loves--more than anyone else. </p><p>In District 5, Erik is forced to leave his brother, and herded onto a train with a friend he knows has every chance of winning it all.</p><p>And in District 3, Ludwig, the outcast, comes to the realization that he will have to die in the games.</p><p>Stories like these have been repeated for seventy-three years. But this time, everything is different.</p><p>(This story is in the process of being MAJORLY REWRITTEN)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**District 12 - Lovina Vargas**

In a dark, cramped room in what had once been the eastern United States, two girls sleep on a dirty, ragged mattress. Threadbare blankets cover them; wadded up clothing serves as a pillow. All is peaceful.

Then, suddenly, one of them sits up. She jolts awake, barely containing a scream. Her breath comes fast as her eyes dart around, taking in her familiar surroundings.

Lovina Vargas takes a deep breath. _Just a dream_ , she thinks. _Thank fucking Christ._ She doesn't believe in a god--few do, anymore--but in her opinion, if there _is_ some divine being, they deserve to be cussed out at every opportunity.

She looks over at the sleeping form of her younger sister, Feliciana. For someone who has just turned twelve, she sleeps so peacefully. At her age, Lovina had been plagued by nightmares, worrying every year that it would be her named called in the Reaping.

Light filters through the dirty windows of their home and illuminates the room. Lovina forces herself to leave the relative warmth of the bed and pull on clothes. It is as she's donning her boots that Feliciana stirs.

"Lovi?"

"Go back to sleep, Feli. I'll be back soon."                    

Feliciana hums. "Going hunting?"

"Of course, idiot. Why else would I be up at this godforsaken hour?" Her words are harsh, but Lovina doesn't mean them. There is nothing more precious to her than her sister's life, and it is for that reason that she puts up a front. In Panem, losing a sibling is a very real possibility.

And what Lovina is about to do--what she does nearly every morning--is incredibly dangerous, and incredibly illegal.

She leaves the house and makes her way to the enormous fence surrounding District 12. She's lucky to live so close to it; the walk is relatively short and deserted, and Peacekeepers rarely patrol this area. After all, the fence is electrified. No one gets in or out...unless they know a way around it. Or, rather, under it.

Lovina crawls under the fence through a hole dug for this exact purpose. Once she's on the other side, she picks up her pace, seeking refuge in the thick forest nearby. She walks until she's out of sight of the fence, then pulls a quiver of arrows from a fork in a tree, followed by a bow. She slings them over her shoulders and continues on, eyes and ears pealed for movement.

It's not long before a deer comes into view. A large buck, big enough to feed her family for at least a month.

Lovina notches an arrow and pulls back the bowstring, lining up the shot. _Just keep eating,_ she thinks, as if that will somehow prevent the buck from fleeing.

There's a rustling noise behind her. The buck looks up, spots Lovina, and runs away before she can react. Frustrated, and a little nervous, Lovina whirls around and aims the bow at the person standing five feet away from her. She scowls. "Dammit, Antonio! I had the perfect shot!"

The boy laughs, much to Lovina's irritation. "Sorry, thought I'd surprise you."

"I'm holding a fucking weapon, moron!"

Antonio scratches the back of his head. "Yeah, didn't really think that one through, did I?"

Lovina lowers her bow and huffs in annoyance. How Antonio kept such a sunny disposition was beyond her. Then again, Antonio had always stood out among the people of District 12. As far as looks went, he was much like everyone else: tanned skin made darker by coal dust, dark hair, a strong build. What set him apart were his eyes, a brilliant green and always shining with hope.

Not that Lovina thought about his looks much. He was a friend, nothing more.

Or at least that's what she tells herself. She doesn't need a boyfriend, not when she still has two years' worth of Reapings ahead of her. This is Antonio's last year, and then he'll be free.

 _Maybe when I'm free,_ Lovina thinks, _I can think about getting a boyfriend. Maybe._

For now, Lovina drops that train of thought and focuses solely on hunting.

* * *

It's the day of the Reaping. The one day that everyone dreads, and the one day that the entire district comes together, dressed in their finest clothes, with no work to do and no responsibilities other than to attend the hated event.

Lovina pulls on her faded gray dress, the only one she owns. Her old blue one belongs to Feliciana now.  It's ill-fitting on Feliciana's slight frame, but there's no time to get it fixed.

The sisters join the other children in the square. Letting go of Feliciana's hand is torture for Lovina, but it's protocol to separate everyone by age and gender. Feliciana is standing near the front of the girls' section; Lovina spots Antonio at the back of the boys' section. He sends a smile her way, accompanied by a thumbs-up.

 _Everything will be okay,_ Lovina thinks. _Feliciana's only one slip among thousands. We'll both go home tonight, Antonio will never have to go through this again, and I'll be one year closer to freedom._

There's a tapping noise reverberating through the speakers set up around the square. The cameras begin rolling. Effie Trinket, the ambassador to District 12, clears her throat. Behind her are three chairs, one each for Effie, the mayor, and the conspicuously absent Sadiq Annan, District 12's only living victor.

 _Speak of the devil_ , Lovina thinks as Sadiq himself stumbles onto the stage. He's clearly drunk, as usual, and his face is hidden behind a stupid white mask that he insists on wearing in public. He trips over his designated chair and tumbles into Effie's, and makes no effort to get up. Soon, loud snoring can be heard from the stage.

Effie Trinket keeps her disconcerting smile plastered to her face as she gives her welcoming speech, but her discomfort is obvious. Lovina feels her scowl slipping; anything that makes Effie Trinket unhappy is worth smiling about.

Her brief moment of happiness is banished when Effie steps over to the two glass balls containing the names of all the eligible boys and girls of District 12. The unlucky candidates for the seventy-fourth Hunger Games.

"Ladies first!" Effie trills. She reaches into the first ball and plucks a slip of paper from the center. She then crosses back to the podium and calls out the name on the paper.

It's not Lovina.

It's Feliciana Vargas.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're confused about who is who, there's a list of names and characters at the end of the chapter.

Lovina is positively stunned, unable to draw breath. There must have been some mistake; Feliciana is _one fucking slip_ among thousands of others. The odds had been entirely in her favor!

But it hadn't fucking mattered.

Around the square, people are murmuring in discomfort. No one likes it when a twelve-year-old is chosen as tribute. Up ahead, Feliciana is walking as if in a daze, shaking like a leaf...like a lamb to the slaughter.

"Feli!" It takes Lovina a moment to realize that she is the one screaming, and by that time she is lunging against guards who try to restrain her, try to keep her from her baby sister who is crying, who is trying to run to Lovina but can't, because there are more guards, grabbing hold of Feliciana and dragging her up to the stage...

"I volunteer! I volunteer!" Lovina screams, desperate, unthinking. The guards drop her as if she's on fire; the square plunges into a smothering silence. It doesn't matter to Lovina; her little sister is free, safe.

"Excellent!" Effie Trinket says, her voice cutting across the air like a blade. "Come up her, darling!"

Feliciana is sobbing, begging Lovina not to go, and it hurts. It fucking _hurts_ to hear her sister cry like that, but this is for the best. The guards restrain Feliciana much more gently as Lovina is escorted to the stage and mounts the stairs.

Effie's smile seems out of place, and yet totally sincere. "Well, bravo!" she gushes. "What's your name, sweetie?"

"Lovina Vargas," Lovina growls, glaring daggers at Effie.

"Well, I bet my buttons that was your sister!"

"Really? What clued you in?" Lovina spits out. Effie is momentarily taken aback, but recovers quickly.

"It's time to choose our boy tribute!" Eager to move the show along, she grabs the first slip she encounters, and reads the name clearly. "Antonio Fernandez Carriedo."

Oh, _fuck_ , no. Not Antonio. The odds are not in Lovina's favor today. Everyone she cares about is in danger, and while she was able to save her sister, there's no way in hell to save Antonio.

 _Why?_ Lovina asks, as if someone or something will have the answer. _Why is this happening? I can't compete against Antonio. I can't kill my best fucking friend."_

* * *

 

Before leaving, the tributes are brought to separate rooms in the Justice Building. This is the last chance they'll get to see their family and friends, say their goodbyes, and make memories. Not happy memories, of course. But it's more for the sake of those left behind than the tributes themselves.

Feliciana comes first. She throws herself into Lovina's arms, sobbing incoherently. Lovina allows herself to be openly compassionate, holding her sister tightly and rocking her back and forth.

"You have to be strong, Feli," she says. "Find someone to help you."

"Who?" Feliciana asks, sniffling. "I need you, Lovi, don't leave!"

Lovina grips her sister tighter and thinks. "Go to Alaric, the baker. He's an old friend of Dad's, he'll take care of you."

"What if he doesn't?"

"He _will_ ," Lovina insists. Of all the people in District 12, Alaric is the most likely to adopt Feliciana into his home. He'd always expressed the feeling that he owed something to Romulus' family; if he hadn't been sick the day of the accident, he would have died right alongside his childhood friend. It was a misguided notion, but one Lovina was eternally thankful for...and one she wasn't above exploiting.

Feliciana pulls away and looks her sister in the eye. "Promise me you'll win. _Promise_ me."

It's clear that Feliciana isn't going to leave until she says it. "I promise."

But there's no way she can win. She's up against trained tributes from Districts 1, 2, and 4, and Antonio. The other tributes could be bigger, stronger, faster, overall _better_ than Lovina. This is a promise she is destined to break, and it tears her heart in two.

The Peacekeepers have to wrench Feliciana away from Lovina. It feels like a part of her is being left behind with her sister.

**District 10 - Toris Laurinaitis**

Toris sits in the train to the Capitol across from his fellow tribute and ponders how it came to this. Of course, he knew all along he might be picked as tribute. He had had at least twenty-five slips in the ball. No, what really confuses him is his fellow tribute. Toris is the male tribute.

The person across from him is also male.

If he didn't already know Feliks, Toris might have assumed he was a girl. Perhaps that was why the Peacekeepers allowed him to stand in for the sickly girl who had been called. Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that Feliks' older sister, Felka, is a victor. The Peacekeepers hate Felka, who openly offends and disobeys them but is virtually untouchable thanks to her popularity in the Capitol. If they think sending Felka's brother to the Hunger Games is a good form of revenge, they're wrong.

"OMG, this is like, so exciting!" Feliks exclaims, startling Toris out of his thoughts. "The Capitol is like, _so_ glamorous! I'm just going to love it!"

Toris heaves a heavy sigh. "We're not going to sightsee, Feliks. We'll be stuck in an arena with a bunch of other kids in a fight to the death. That means death." No response. "Blood." Still nothing. "No clean clohtes."

Feliks' eyes grow wide. "OMG, no way! I totally can _not_ go without clean clothes! Like, what the hell are they thinking?"

It occurs to Toris that Feliks is one of two things: stupid enough to tune out the whole point of the Hunger Games in his eternal quest for fabulous, or a good enough actor to convince everyone that he doesn't know what he's getting into.

Toris rubs his temples, trying to will away the pounding headache that talking with Feliks always brings. He should be flattered--Feliks talks to only a select few people--but a conversation with Feliks was hardly worthwhile.

 _It's bad enough that I have to go into the arena at all,_ Toris thinks, trying to block out Feliks' chatter, _but why did_ he _have to be my fellow tribute? He's probably going to depend on me to save him._

Which is stupid. Tributes never work together, and Toris wasn't going to be the one to break the trend.

**District 8- Elizaveta H** **éderváry**

It takes a moment for the girl to realize that her name has been called. When she does, she immediately locks eyes with the boy standing across the gender divide from her.

The timing is awful. Elizaveta had only recently started dating the man of her dreams, Roderich Edelstein, and now she's being called to participate in the Hunger Games. She looks at her boyfriend, trying to gauge his reaction, seeing nothing but stoic apathy.

Roderich is the son of a Peacekeeper. He has to keep up appearances, even though his girlfriend is being sent off to her near-certain death. Elizaveta knows this, and she also knows that she won't go down without a fight.

She holds her chin high as she walks to the podium, her long hair streaming behind her. She knows that all of Panem will see this moment, and she wants to make a good impression on the spectators in the Capitol.

The escort roots around in the boys' ball and pulls out another slip of paper.

"Gilbert Beilschmidt!"

In the corner of the square, there's a slight shuffling. A bunch of boys say their goodbyes, patting the male tribute on the back. A few moments later, a pale silver-haired boy detaches from the group, a cocky grin on his face.

 _Shit,_ Elizaveta thinks. _Not him!_

Because she remembers him. She remembers a time when she was younger, long after her mother had died, shortly after her father was arrested by the Peacekeepers and never seen again. She remembers when she was on her own for the first time, barely getting by on the food she could steal from stalls in the market.

She remembers getting so hungry that she gobbled up the first berries she came across. She remembers her vision blurring, and a dull horror as she began to vomit blood. She remembers the utter helplessness of the situation, when she was too weak to move or call for help.

And she remembers the silver-haired boy with the cocky grin nursing her back to health.

She hasn't spoken to Gilbert Beilschmidt much since that time. He and his friends are the troublemakers, and Elizaveta had grown out of that long ago. Still, of all the boys to be chosen as tribute, it had to be one of the only boys she's not sure she can bring herself to kill.

**District 5 - Erik Bondevik-Steillson**

There are so few girls of Reaping age in District 5 that the Peacekeepers have started putting all the slips in one big bowl. Consequently, the odds for boys getting picked has skyrocketed, and the tension radiating off the boys' group is nearly visible.

Among the group are three boys, all blond. On the right is Mathias Køhler, tallest of the boys, bouncing on the balls of his feet. As usual, he seems to absorb the tension around him and convert it into pure energy. He looks as if he could run a two-minute mile.

On the left is Lukas Bondevik-Steillson, staring blankly ahead. Beside him is his younger brother Erik, doing his best to appear nonchalant. He fidgets with the gaudy bowtie around his neck, wishing he could remove it.

The escort for District 5 reaches into the ball and pulls out two slips of paper. _That's unusual_ , Erik thinks. _Probably an accident...or are we that far behind schedule?_

The answer comes when the escort reads both slips of paper without even hesitating: "Erik Bondevik-Steillson and Mathias Køhler!"

Lukas stiffens. This is his worst unspoken nightmare: his best friend and his little brother being sent to the Hunger Games at the same time. The odds of it happening had been slim, and yet...

Erik knows he has no chance of winning. If anyone is going to win glory for District 5, it's going to be Mathias. And now, to top it all off, he's not sure who Lukas wants to win.

He's not sure about anything anymore.

Mathias cuts the tension with a whoop of joy. Erik glances at him, suspicious. _Why is he so happy to be tribute?_

Then he realizes: Mathias has been called. He's seventeen. Now he knows for sure what his fate is.

But Erik is only fifteen. He's not ready to die, hasn't even had his first crush yet. This is _his_ worst nightmare.

Lukas turns. "Will you call me big brother, one last time?"

Despite the chances that they'll never see each other again, Erik replies as he always does. "Never."

He regrets it immediately. He doesn't hate his brother, but he's always felt smothered. Now he's hurt Lukas when he should be cherishing every moment with him. Before he can correct his mistake, Mathias throws an arm around Erik's neck and drags him to the stage. It's too late to go back.

**District 3 - Ludwig**

The crowd mills about as if it's market day. In the middle of the square, a tall, well-muscled young man stands alone. The people around him keep their distance; no one wants to approach a boy they think killed his own father.

It's not true. Ludwig hasn't seen his father in years, not since he went missing. But the signs of a struggle, and the unidentifiable body Ludwig found in the morning, left the entire district with their own ideas on what happened.

Ludwig feels a tug on his sleeve and turns to see Louise, his only friend, the only person in District 3 who isn't afraid, who believes that Ludwig is innocent. She seems worried.

"What's the matter, Louise?" Ludwig asks. "Is everything okay at home?"

She nods. "It's just...something feels wrong, Ludwig. I can't explain it, I just... _feel_ it."

Before she can explain, the escort begins to speak, and the crowd forms into columns. There is still a wide circle around Louise and Ludwig.

"Our male tribute will be Tino Väinämöinen!"

Ludwig knows that boy. Tino is strong, freakishly so for his slender build, but he's also kindhearted. That could be a weakness in the arena.

But the boy who joins the escort is not Tino. It's Berwald Oxenstierna, volunteering to take Tino's place. There are some murmurs, but like many people their age, Louise and Ludwig know why Berwald is doing this. He's been in love with Tino for years, even though Tino has avoided him like the plague. After Ludwig, Berwald is the most intimidating boy in District 3.

It's something of a surprise, therefore, when Tino starts yelling, "No! I'll do it! I'll go to the Hunger Games!"

Berwald only shakes his head. He's not backing down.

The escort ignores Tino as a couple of Peacekeepers haul him from the Square. He reads off the next name.

"Louise-"

"STOP!"

The entire district turns to look at Ludwig. He's red with rage, so angry that even Louise backs away. He stomps to the stage, grabbing the first Peacekeeper he comes across. "You said you'd take her out!"

No one speaks. The Peacekeeper is whimpering like a child. "I-I must have missed one..."

Ludwig shoves the man away and turns to the escort. "This should not have happened. I was promised that if I took extra tessera, I could replace her name with mine. I'll go as tribute for District 3!"

There's a brief silence, and then people are cheering and whooping. They're sure that this will be the last they see of Ludwig, and they're probably right.

It's not that Ludwig can't win. But he knows that to win he has to kill, and that would make him the murderer everyone believes him to be. If he wins, he loses everything he still has.

He has to lose on purpose.

* * *

The only person to visit is Louise. She storms into the room and punches Ludwig in the gut as hard as she can.

"You _idiot!_ You were bribing the Peacekeepers? Do you know how embarrassing that is for me?"

Ludwig can't answer; he's too busy coughing, trying to regain his breath. Louise doesn't wait for him to speak, though.

"Everyone is supposed to have a slip in there. It's what connects us all. We've got an equal chance of dying. And you were making the Peacekeepers remove me. It's like I was too good for the Reaping, better than everyone else! I would have been happy to go to the Hunger Games if my name was called. What you did wasn't fair to the other girls!"

She doesn't say what Ludwig knows she's thinking: those other girls died because they were chosen as tribute. Ludwig may have, inadvertently, sent them to their deaths.

Louise waits for Ludwig to recover. Then she wraps him in a hug. "I'm sorry. I'm scared for you, and for me."

" _I'm_ sorry," Ludwig replies. "I screwed up."

Louise pulls away. "You need to try to win, Ludwig. Don't worry about what other people think."

Ludwig shakes his head. "I can't. I'll fight in self-defense, but I won't be a murderer."

As the Peacekeeper escorts her from the room, her eyes are filled with sadness and disappointment. It hurts, and Ludwig wishes he could promise a safe return, a happy victory. There's so much more he wants to say to her, but he's not good with feelings. And there's no reason to say goodbye when the sentiment is implied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Antonio=Spain  
> Alaric=Germania  
> Berwald= Sweden  
> Elizaveta=Hungary  
> Erik=Iceland  
> Feliks=Poland  
> Felka=Fem Poland  
> Feliciana/ Feli= Fem Italy  
> Gilbert=Prussia  
> Louise=Fem Germany  
> Lovina=Fem South Italy  
> Ludwig=Germany  
> Lukas=Norway  
> Mathias=Denmark  
> Roderich=Austria  
> Romulus=Rome  
> Sadiq=Turkey  
> Tino=Finland  
> Toris=Lithuania  
> 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who don’t know, Johanna Mason (featured more in Catching Fire) was from District 7. Thus, I have included her (represented by another character) in this chapter. Same with Finnick O’Dair. 
> 
> I warn you that this chapter is mostly the musings of the tributes. I want you to get emotionally attached. And I always wondered what went on in the heads of the other tributes.  
> Disclaimer: Although I quote The Hunger Games, I do not own Hetalia or the Hunger Games. All rights belong to their respective owners; the use of the characters and dialogue are for entertainment purposes only. 
> 
> ALSO the "district" thing at the beginning of each POV is not location. It identifies which district they are from.

**District 12- Lovina**

In my room on the train, I change out of my dress and try on a pair of pants and a shirt that I find in one of the drawers. The green of the shirt goes nicely with the gold of the mockingjay pin, so I make sure to grab it on my way out the door to dinner. As I pin it to my chest, I remember how my father loved mockingjays. He used to whistle complicated tunes to them, and they would go silent for a minute before repeating the tune. It was almost as if the stupid animals were being respectful.

At the table, I find Effie Trinket and Antonio already seated. All the dishes look highly breakable. Most obvious, though, is the empty chair where a certain drunkard is supposed to be seated.

“Where’s Sadiq?” Effie asks, plastering a smile to her stupid face. It’s clear she’s irked by his absence.

“No idea,” Antonio replies. He clearly could care less.

The food comes, and it’s all I can do to pace myself. A thick carrot soup, salad, lamb chops and green beans, exotic cheeses and grapes, and a chocolate cake.

We go to a compartment with a bigger television, where Effie turns on the recap of the reapings. I watch carefully, trying to commit the names to memory.

From District 1, the tributes look like twins. The girl is wearing skimpy clothes and the boy wears an old jacket from long before Panem was formed. The commentators are speculating about the willingness of these siblings—Alfred and Emily Jones—to kill each other in the arena. The boy from District 2, Ivan Braginski, is a hulking brute who is closely followed by his younger sister, Natalia. District 3 is pretty dramatic, what with the bastard volunteering for the girl. I know immediately that I want to steer clear of him. Compared to him, District 4 looks tame. This year’s careers are a very tanned--or perhaps she's just dark-skinned-- girl in a blue dress and a sleepy-looking guy with a cat hanging onto his shirt. The boy from District 8 is shivering in his boots. I try to remember his name—Raivas, I think—but I’m convinced he won’t make it in the arena. His fellow tribute looks like a merchant, but I don’t catch her name. In District 9, I see a similar scene to my own—a young girl is called, but her brother volunteers. He looks scary, but he has such a tender smile when talking to his sister. The escort calls another girl.

Most haunting, though, is the girl from District 11, a young blonde girl with a cute face. Her name escapes me, but she stands smiling, arms out at her sides as if ready to take off at any moment. Her older brother is called up, and again I worry about my odds in the arena.

Last of all, they show District 12, and I see for the first time how the audience saw me: a desperate, hysterical girl willing to do anything to save her sister. When Sadiq tumbles off the stage, the commentators laugh and show some replays of it. It seems that will be a highlight of this year’s Games. Even I get a kick out of it.

Effie snorts. “Laugh while you can,” she says, storming out of the room. “Sadiq is the one who will give you advice, and line up sponsors. So go ahead and laugh!”

Stupid Effie. She always has to kill the mood.

**District 7-Elizaveta**

One point in my favor is that my mentor is the famed Julchen, the only female victor left from District 7. She’s fairly young, having won the Games only a couple years ago. What makes her stand out is that she won the Games by pretending to be weak, and then, once in the arena, becoming a veritable killing machine.

However, my excitement at meeting her wanes a bit once I remember that  she’s a cousin of Gilbert—and the fact that she shows up in my compartment naked doesn’t help. Before she even says hello, she opens my clothes drawer and helps herself. I can’t help but wonder where her clothes went; surely she didn’t board the train naked? Come to think of it, I don’t recall seeing her at the Reaping.

Once Julchen is dressed, she lounges on my bed. “So, you’re the new tribute. You don’t look like much.”

I bristle at this remark, even though I know it’s true. I chose the prettiest skirt to wear once I boarded the train, and I took care to wash my hair and part it just right. The only thing I kept from my Reaping outfit was the flower hairpin my father left me.

Skirts aren't really my style. Roderich liked them, though, and I don't look awful in them.

I lift my chin. “I assure you, when I’m provoked, I can be vicious.”

Julchen just smirks. “Only when provoked? You’re screwed, girlie.” She crosses her legs and leans back, letting her long silver hair sway back and forth. “The key to winning in the arena is: always be ready to kill. Maybe you’re against the big guy from District 11. Or maybe your opponent is the little kid from District 8. Either way, you have to treat them like you would treat a rapist—without mercy.”

This sudden change in Julchen shocks me. One moment she’s naked and going through my clothes, the next she’s all business.

“And why aren’t you telling Gilbert this?” I ask, lacking any other comeback.

Julchen snorts. “Gil? He doesn’t need me. He’ll figure it out all on his own. Or so he thinks.”

A knock on the door startles me, and I whip around. The door is open; Julchen didn’t bother to close it. Gilbert stands in the doorway with a hand over his eyes. “Is it safe to look?”

In the moment it takes me to realize he’s asking about Julchen’s nudity, Julchen has answered with, “Sure.”

“Let me rephrase that: would _I_ think it’s safe to look?”

Julchen straightens up and heaves an exasperated sigh. “I’m dressed, Gilbert.”

Gilbert lowers his hand tentatively. “You have to stop doing that, Julchen. Awesome people don’t see their girl cousins naked. At least make sure my door is closed before waltzing past.”

Julchen waves his comment away. “It’s no big deal. Besides, you’ll probably die anyway, so this may be your last chance to see a naked woman.”

Gilbert blushes. “Yeah, right. I’m too awesome to die in the arena.”

Julchen shrugs. “Perhaps, but remember, there are twenty-four of you in there, and only one winner. Awesome has nothing to do with it.”

Silence. I know that she’s right, and I can see that Gilbert does, too.

My stomach growls; it’s about time for dinner, but Julchen seems to have no inclination to move, and I don’t want to leave her here. 

As if sensing my thoughts, Gilbert motions for me to leave. “I’ll get her out eventually,” he says. “And, hopefully, she’ll be fully clothed.”

I laugh and exit my room. When I’m a safe distance away, I realize that I’m in trouble. Once I’m in the arena, Gilbert is my enemy. Yet here I am, getting to know him, laughing at his jokes, accepting his help. All this will make him harder for me to kill.

The solution is simple: I’m going to have to have as little to do with Gilbert as possible.

**District 5-Erik**

I see the lights of another district out the window. Which one is it? 4? 2? How much longer until we reach the Capitol?

I think of the people in the districts whose children are safe, the families settling down for dinner, celebrating another lucky year. And then I think of Lukas, alone in our house, without even a friend to join him. Mathias used to come over on any night he pleased and make himself at home. He’d always stay for dinner, but after a while I noticed that he took less when there was less to go around. And always, the largest portion was left for me.

I’ve already spent most of the train ride remembering all the little things I didn’t know Lukas had done for me. At the time, I never saw those acts for what they were: signs of love. My brother was always looking out for me, and I only ever repaid him with scorn.

How many times did Lukas go to bed with an empty stomach? How many of his possessions did he trade in the black market, just to get food to feed me? And how many times did I whine, yell at him, call him lazy, because I didn’t have enough to eat?

It’s a wonder that he didn’t just throw me out.

At least when I die in the arena, Lukas won’t have to worry about me anymore. I know I’m not going to win; if District Five has a chance, it’s in Mathias. I’m too young, too skinny, too inexperienced to even know how to wield a stick. Other than a knowledge of how to be hungry, I’ve led a relatively sheltered life.

Mathias seems to be enjoying his stay on the train. If I didn’t know better, I would think he was actually excited to go to the Games. But I know Mathias too well; he’s worried about Lukas, too. We were his family. Lukas has no other friends. Mathias, on the other hand, would have been able to cope with the loneliness and make new friends.

I wonder if Mathias made Lukas promise not to volunteer if I were called. It seems likely; Mathias would probably rather kill me than his best friend. Being the youngest, they probably thought I would never survive on my own. And they would be right.

**District 8-Raivas**

I can’t sleep. The rocking of the train makes me sick. We’ve only stopped once, to refuel, and that was the only moment of bliss I’ve had since I was called as tribute.

It feels like it’s been a lifetime since the Reaping. How could it be that only this morning, I was helping Peter with his collar? The one time I feel like a big brother to him, and the same day I get called as tribute?

He’s not really my brother. Usually I wish he were, so I could have a family. But today I’m glad, in a way, that Peter is only a friend. He won’t be losing a brother.

I haven’t stopped shaking since the Reaping. It’s nothing new; I spend most of my time shaking. District Eight couldn’t have a sorrier tribute.

No one in Panem will be surprised when I die. I’ll probably be one of the first.

Will Peter cry? Will he even watch?

Peter’s lucky. He still has a few years before he qualifies as tribute. But what happens if he gets picked? For all his talk of being a warrior, Peter probably doesn’t have any more of a chance than I do.

Whether it’s from the motion sickness, the non-stop shivering, or worry, I don’t know, but I rush to the bathroom and become violently ill.

Great. What kind of tribute spends his time vomiting? Maybe I’ll die before I even reach the Capitol. I wonder if a new tribute would be chosen, or if the Games would continue with one less tribute. 

**District 4-Victoire**

There are most likely any number of nightgowns in the drawers, but I choose to sleep in my short blue dress. I haven’t removed it since the Reaping; if at all possible, I want it to be my token. Most tributes bring small things into the arena, but all I have is my dress.

Francis Bonnefoy, our mentor, was a lot different than I thought he would be. He’s well-known in the Capitol for being promiscuous, but he seemed—fatherly, almost. As if he wanted to protect me, and not train me to kill. Which may or may not prove unhelpful.

I can’t help but feel that District Four’s hopes ride on me. Although Heracles Karpusi, my fellow tribute, is known in our district as a killing machine, he seems so—lazy. He basically slept through dinner.

The cat that was clinging to him at the Reaping has mysteriously disappeared. For some reason, I find myself wondering what the other tributes brought as tokens. 

Great. I’m headed towards almost-certain death, and I’m worried about my opponents’ toys. Totally the mindset of a killer.

I climb in between the sheets and immediately feel as if I’m sleeping in a cloud. Are all Capitol beds like this? If so, I’m jealous. Surely they have enough mattresses to give to the Districts.

The rocking of the train reminds me of a loud fishing boat. What I would give to be back home with my parents, out on the sea! The closest thing to the ocean now is tears, and even those seem to have forsaken me. 

**District 12-Lovina**

I’m woken up by Effie Trinket rapping on my door and trilling, “Up, up, up! It’s going to be a big, big day!” I can’t help but wonder what goes on in her head.

I put on the outfit from the previous day, since it’s relatively clean, and join Effie out in the hall. Upon reaching the dining car, she hands me a cup of coffee. Across the table, Sadiq is chuckling, about what I’ve no clue. I’m pretty sure I heard him vomiting last night, most likely from over-indulging on drink. Antonio is munching on a toasted bagel and frowning.

“Sit down!” Sadiq motions for me to join them. As soon as I sit down, I’m served a heaping pile of eggs and sausage, fruit, and rolls. An elaborate pitcher of orange juice sits before me. I’ve only ever has orange juice once, at New Year’s, before my father died. I set aside the coffee and pour myself a glass of juice instead.

Antonio slides another mug towards me, this one filled with a thick brown liquid. “It’s called hot chocolate,” he informs me, stealing my orange juice. “It’s too sweet for me, but it might mellow you out.”

I scowl at him before taking a sip. He’s right; it’s very sweet. And I love it. I drain the rest of the drink before turning my attention to the food on my plate. I try to avoid most of the sausage; one bite tells me it’s rich, and I don’t want an upset stomach.

I remember one time when my mother scolded me for eating too quickly. She said I eat like I’ll never see food again. I told her, “I won’t unless I bring it home.” That shut her up.

When I’ve finished eating, I sit back and watch Sadiq. He keeps pouring alcohol into a glass of red juice. Having seen him around the Hob, buying white liquor by the case, I know he’ll be incoherent by the time we reach the Capitol.

I realize I detest Sadiq. No wonder District 12 hasn’t had a victor in nearly 25 years. The tributes have had an alcoholic mentor who clearly thinks this is all a joke.

“So…you’re supposed to give us advice,” I hear Antonio say. He’s obviously trying to be nice to Sadiq.

Sadiq throws back another glass of juice. “Here’s some advice. Stay alive,” he says, his words heavily slurred. I exchange a look with Antonio.

“That’s very funny,” he says. Suddenly he lashes out and stabs a knife into the table near Sadiq’s hand, causing Sadiq to drop the glass he is refilling. “Only not to us.”

Effie Trinket gasps. “That is mahogany!”

Sadiq watches the spilled drink spill across the floor. Just as quickly as Antonio struck, Sadiq swings and hits Antonio in the jaw, sending him whipping back in his chair. I grab the bottle of liquor and hand it to a passing servant, who takes it out of the room. When Sadiq makes to lunge for the servant, I stick my foot out and trip him up, kicking him again on the way down. Sadiq turns his attention from the servant to me. But instead of lashing out, he sits back and considers me.

“Well, what have we here? A couple of fighters?” Sadiq mutters. He gestures to me. “What can _you_ do besides confiscate my drink at the speed of light?”

In response, I grab my own knife and toss it across the room. It lodges in a crack in the wood, making me look far better than I really am.

“Stand over here. Both of you,” says Sadiq, nodding to the middle of the room. He inspects us a bit more as we obey him, and then launches straight into, “I’ll make you a deal. You two don’t interfere with my drinking, and I’ll stay sober enough to help you. But!” He holds up a finger. “You have to do exactly what I say.”

It’s a stupid deal. It’s all win for Sadiq, and only somewhat more convenient for us. But it’s better than nothing.

“Fine,” I say, and Antonio nods beside me.

“Okay.” Sadiq rubs his hands together. “We’ll arrive at the station in a few minutes. I’ll hand you over to your stylists. You most likely aren’t going to like what they do to you, but no matter what, do not resist.”

“But—“ I begin.

“What did I just say?” Sadiq cuts me off with a wag of his finger. He grabs an unused glass and fills it with orange juice, then leaves the two of us alone with Effie Trinket, who, as always, is the best of company.

"It's like you've never heard of manners before!"

**District 10-Toris**

Felka hasn’t done anything to boost my confidence, and by the time we’re traveling through the tunnel that leads through the mountains to the Capitol, I’m positively nerve wracked. Felka basically told us what we already know—that we’re going to die—and provided no other assistance in any way. Not even a plan. She seems to have abandoned us to fate.

Once we’re out of the tunnel, Feliks joins me and promptly heads for the window. He spends the rest of the train ride waving at the citizens of the Capitol and exclaiming over the ‘fabulous’ styles and architecture.

Once we reach the station, we’re hustled off the train and surrounded by bodyguards. Up ahead is the remake center, part of the giant building that contains the Training area and the tributes’ rooms. Feliks is glowing with excitement at the prospect of a makeover, but I’m too busy craning my neck to see around the guards and, hopefully, catch a glimpse of another tribute.

When I finally succeed, I immediately recognize the boy. He’s the tribute from District 8, the shivering one. He’s still shivering, but he’s dressed in nicer clothes now. He looks like he might be sick, and he’s definitely been crying.

My view of the boy is cut off by one of the guards. Not a moment too soon, either; I feel sorry for the boy from District Eight. I can’t afford to feel sorry. I just have to hope someone else kills him.

The thought shocks me. I can’t believe I am considering the scenario where this boy is dead. Admittedly, it’s very likely, but I never thought I would be hoping that someone else would be killed in cold blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of characters this chapter. Next up, we have the opening ceremony! I’ll probably spend time on different districts’ outfits. Needless to say, District 7 are dressed as trees. It even says so in Catching Fire. Poor Gil and Eliza have to be trees…
> 
> I’ve just decided to write down all the tributes, in case you get confused as to who the unnamed tributes are. Every single one of them is a Hetalia character. Remember, I might change up who dies and who lives. Only time will tell.
> 
> Characters (and who they play/District, if applicable):
> 
> Tributes:  
> Lovina Vargas-Female South Italy (District 12)  
> Antonio- Spain (District 12)  
> Alfred Jones-America (District 1)  
> Emily Jones- Female America (District 1)  
> Ivan Braginski- Russia (District 2)  
> Natalia- Belarus (District 2)  
> Ludwig- Germany (District 3; friend of Louise)  
> Berwald- Sweden (District 3)  
> Heracles-Greece (District 4)  
> Victoire-Seychelles (District 4)  
> Mathias-Denmark (District 5)  
> Erik-Iceland (District 5)  
> Kiku- Japan (District 6)  
> Sakura- Female Japan (District 6, sister to Kiku)  
> Elizaveta- Hungary (District 7)  
> Gilbert- Prussia (District 7)  
> District 8 Female (Unnamed)  
> Raivas- Latvia (District 8)  
> District 9 Female (unnamed)  
> Vash-Switzerland (District 9)  
> Feliks-Poland (District 10)  
> Toris-Lithuania (District 10)  
> Bel-Belgium (District 11)  
> Lars-Netherlands (District 11)
> 
> Mentors:  
> Sadiq-Turkey ("plays" Haymitch)  
> Julchen- Female Prussia ("plays" Johanna Mason, and is cousin to Gilbert)  
> Felka- Female Poland (District 10 mentor, Feliks’ older sister)  
> Francis-France (District 4, "plays" Finnick)
> 
> Citizens:  
> Tino- Finland (District 3, replaced by Berwald)  
> Louise- Female Germany (District 3, replaced by Ludwig)  
> Lukas-Norway (District 5; brother to Erik)  
> Roderich- Austria (District 7; Elizaveta’s boyfriend)  
> Peter-Sealand (District 8, friend of Raivas)  
> Lili-Liechtenstein (District 9, replaced by Vash)  
> Romulus- Ancient Rome (deceased; father of Lovina and Feliciana Vargas)  
> Feliciana- Female Italy (District 12, replaced by Lovina)  
> Alaric- Germania (District 12; friend of Romulus)


	4. Chapter 4

**District 12-  Lovina**

I grit my teeth as Venia, a woman with aqua hair and gold tattoos, yanks a strip of fabric off my leg, tearing out the hair beneath it. Thank goodness that was the last one.

It’s been three hours, and my stylist still hasn’t shown up. It appears the bastard won’t see me until after my prep team—consisting of Venia, Flavius, and Octavia—have finished with me. So far, I’ve been rubbed down with a gritty foam that’s shaved off about three layers of my skin; had my eyebrows plucked; and lost every bit of body hair, other than my head and some obvious places I wouldn’t let anyone touch. I feel like a plucked bird, and I don’t like it.  Still, I’m honoring my part of the agreement with Sadiq; that thought has been the only thing keeping me from swiping at my prep teams’ eyes.

I’m told to remove the thin robe I am wearing. I do so, and am immediately greased down all over with a lotion that stings, then soothes my skin. The three step back to admire their work.

“Perfect!” Octavia sings.

“You almost look like a human being now!” Flavius says, applying another coat of purple lipstick and brushing his bright orange curls out of his face.

I snort. Like they have any right to talk. “Yeah, well, in District 12 we don’t have cause to look pretty.”

My prep team apparently misses the sarcasm in my voice and instead begins to fawn over me.

“Of course you don’t, you poor darling!” Octavia gushes, clasping her hands.

“Don’t worry,” Flavius says. “When he’s done with you, I promise you’ll be gorgeous!” He considers me. “You know, now that we’ve removed the hair and filth, you don’t look horrible at all.”

My prep team chorus, “Let’s call him in!” and dart out of the room. I’m still not sure whether to like them or hate them. Can one hate people who are oblivious?

I leave my robe on the floor; odds are I’ll have to take it off when the stylist person arrives. Everyone has simply referred to him as “him” or “he”. It’s as if they think I’ll know him already.

The door opens and a young man enters. I’m surprised at how normal he looks. So many stylists who are interviewed are so covered in tattoos, dyes, piercings, and/or surgically altered body parts that it churns my stomach. But his hair appears to be its natural shade of brown. The only sign of self-alteration is lightly applied gold eyeliner.

“Hello, Lovina. I’m Yao, your stylist. But everyone simply calls me China. It’s so nice to meet you.”

“No one has mentioned you by name,” I say. “And why China?”

The man smiles and gestures towards a genuine porcelain teacup that is sitting in the corner, empty and apparently out of place. “This is a porcelain cup, as you may know.” He picks it up and handles it gently. “Long ago, there were many countries, and they all interacted. One such country, the people if whom I am descended, was called China, and they produced the most wonderful porcelain—so wonderful, in fact, that in other parts of the world it was called china. As a nod to my ancestry, I go by this name of China. As an excuse, though, I say, quite correctly, that I am a fan of porcelain, and wish to be called a similar name. And besides, my skin sort of matches, yes?” He holds the cup up to his face with a smile. I nod.

“Just give me a moment, all right?” He begins to walk around me, not touching, but taking in every inch, every detail, with his eyes. I have to resist the urge to cross my arms over my chest, so I keep them behind my back.

“You’re new, aren’t you? I haven’t seen you before.” What I’m thinking is, _You look so normal I think I’d remember you_.

“Yes, I am.”

“So they gave you District 12,” I say.

“Yes, but I quite prefer it. Each district comes with its own set of possibilities. Please put on your robe now. I’d like to have a chat before we get to work.”

**District 4-Victoire**

“It’ll look lovely on you!” Oramela, my stylist, gushes. “It’s got real scales that have been altered to shine in brilliant colours, and a coral tiara! You’ll be the most beautiful tribute of them all!”

Oramela proudly holds up the mermaid costume. She’s right about the scales, and the fin is made of transparent material rather like fibers, but much stronger, she told me. And it flips easily, so I can look like a real mermaid. She’s even created costumes for the horses.

I cross my arms over my small chest, unhappy about the nudity. Oramela insisted that she did not ever want to see us in her studio with “outside” clothes.

By us, of course, I mean myself and Heracles. He seems absolutely bored with the whole thing, and except for looking me over a few times, he’s payed no interest to me.

His costume is simply a seaweed skirt, something that Oramela called a “kilt”. He’s got a nice body, so she must think that showing off his abs will bring in sponsors. His enthusiasm might be an offset to that, though.

I slip into the costume and plop on the closest seat, unable to walk in it. Oramela claps like a child receiving a present, cooing and congratulating herself on her beautiful creation.

“You’ll look even better on the chariot!” she says as Heracles slips his kilt on. She leaves the room, clearly expecting us to follow.

I manage to get to my feet, but even as I try to hop and hobble along I know it isn’t going to work. I trip on my next step, and am only saved from falling on my face by the strong arms of Heracles, who has moved surprisingly fast in order to catch me.

“You okay?” he asks, possibly the first line of dialogue he has said to me.

“Yes, thank you.”

He sweeps me up and carries me out the door, despite my initial protest. But it’s nice, being carried like a fairytale princess from those stories my mother used to tell. Of course, Heracles isn’t really a prince, and he doesn’t have any interest in me, anyways. But the fact that someone who has been trained as a killer is kind enough to help me to my chariot still warms my heart.

I shouldn’t even have a heart. I’m a killer, too, aren’t I?

**  
District 12- Lovina**

I survey the meal set before me. China has pressed a button, and what seems like a feast has appeared.

I see sauce-covered spaghetti and meatballs, ravioli, dumplings, something China calls “wonton soup”, chicken and orange chunks in a creamy sauce over rice, green onions, zucchini flowers baked in a batter and stuffed with herbs and cheese, and a rack of lamb seasoned to perfection with spices I have never heard of. And there is a creamy, blueberry-flavoured soda that China says used to be called an Italian soda, but is now simply called a Tala.

I try to imagine creating this meal at home, and although my mind fails to invent the dumpling and soup, I know that I could attempt the onions, although they would not taste the same. If we grew zucchini, we might get the flours, but the batter would be hard to make and there would only be cheese as stuffing. I could substitute blueberry juice, I guess, for the soda, and I’d need to shoot a turkey to trade for oranges. But chicken would be impossible to trade for, so a second turkey would have to take its place. We have no way of making pasta, since our antique pasta maker has rusted and is falling to bits. And besides, that object is taboo. We should have turned it in to the Capitol, or at least traded it on the black market, but it was my father’s.

As if he’s reading my mind, China looks me in the eye and says, “How despicable we must seem to you.”

I nod. There’s no point in denying it. I’m not one to mince words, or opinions.

**District 10-Toris**

I wait on my chariot next to Feliks. We’re dressed as fluffy sheep, and it’s exceedingly embarrassing, but we might attract more attention than the District Seven trees.

District 12’s tributes have yet to show up, but I can see District 4 getting ready. The male tribute is helping the stylist, a freakishly tall woman with a poof of green hair and golden skin, to situate the female tribute—her name, Victoire, somehow sticks in my mind—on a depression in a fake rock built into the chariot. The grooms are fitting the horses in a fish-like tail and a transparent blanket to cover their legs, so the chariot is set back a bit from the horses, more than usual.

Once Victoire is perfectly positioned, the male tribute mounts the carriage and sits on a lower rock to her left, almost out of my view. He’s been given an armrest, built into the side of her rock, but he’s using his arm as a pillow, so it’s more of a headrest.

District One is splendid in brilliant gold and silver, the girl in a slim revealing dress and the boy in a jacket and trousers. No shirt to be found anywhere near him. He must have abs, but I can’t see them because he’s turned the other way, talking to his stylist about something. 

District Two is standing still as statues, staring straight ahead. They’ve got pure white costumes, his a regal robe trimmed with thick fur and an opalescent scepter set with a diamond, hers a flowing white dress with feathers on her hips, shoulders, and sleeves. She has an oversized headdress of feathers that seems as if it should weigh her head back, but she supports it as if it weighs nothing at all. Despite her brother’s warm, scary smile, her mouth is set in a grim line, as if the snow-white of her outfit has affected her mood, turning her as chilly as the winter wind. It takes a great effort to turn my face away from such beauty.

I hear announcements outside, signaling the approach of our Capitol debut. Just before the gates open, District 12 appears in plain black suits. Maybe we do stand a chance.

As our chariot pulls out, I swear I hear some laughter spattered throughout the ardent applause. We must look ridiculous. I can’t even put my arms at my sides, my outfit is so poofy. Feliks is loving it, though. He’s waving and blowing kisses, probably feeling like a star.

Then I hear a roar of excitement, and although I know we aren’t supposed to look back, I can’t help it.

And there is District 12, in their plain black suits, glowing under the light of the flames that cover their capes, headpieces, and limbs.

And they’re holding hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Has anyone noticed that ‘China’ and ‘Cinna’ are spelled a lot alike? I really wanted to just call China by his country name. 
> 
> Sorry for the horrible chapter ending. I just really wanted to skip the rest of the ceremony. And I can’t remember if I promised interviews, but if I did, I lied. I’m not sorry.
> 
> ALSO! I chose a character for District 9’s female. She’s going to replace Foxface in the story. To be honest, I had her in there from the start, but I recently forgot why, so I took her out. Then I remembered and replaced her.
> 
> This is the story that made me start shipping Greece X Seychelles, even though I didn't even write it that way. 
> 
> Tributes:  
> Lovina Vargas-Female South Italy (District 12)  
> Antonio- Spain (District 12)  
> Alfred Jones-America (District 1)  
> Emily Jones- Female America (District 1)  
> Ivan Braginski- Russia (District 2)  
> Natalia - Belarus (District 2, sister to Ivan)  
> Ludwig- Germany (District 3; friend of Louise)  
> Berwald- Sweden (District 3)  
> Heracles-Greece (District 4)  
> Victoire-Seychelles (District 4)  
> Mathias-Denmark (District 5)  
> Erik-Iceland (District 5)  
> Kiku- Japan (District 6)  
> Sakura- Female Japan (District 6, sister to Kiku)  
> Elizaveta- Hungary (District 7)  
> Gilbert- Prussia (District 7)  
> District 8 Female (Unnamed)  
> Raivas- Latvia (District 8)  
> Lien- Vietnam (District 9)  
> Vash-Switzerland (District 9)  
> Feliks-Poland (District 10)  
> Toris-Lithuania (District 10)  
> Bel-Belgium (District 11)  
> Lars-Netherlands (District 11)
> 
> Mentors:  
> Sadiq-Turkey (plays Haymitch)  
> Julchen- Female Prussia (plays Johanna Mason, and is cousin to Gilbert)  
> Felka- Female Poland (District 10 mentor, Feliks’ older sister)  
> Francis-France (District 4, plays Finnick)  
> Yao-China (plays Cinna)
> 
> Citizens:  
> Tino- Finland (District 3, replaced by Berwald)  
> Louise- Female Germany (District 3, replaced by Ludwig)  
> Lukas-Norway (District 5; brother to Erik)  
> Roderich- Austria (District 7; Elizaveta’s boyfriend)  
> Peter-Sealand (District 8, friend of Raivas)  
> Lili-Liechtenstein (District 9, replaced by Vash)  
> Romulus- Ancient Rome (deceased; father of Lovina and Feliciana Vargas)  
> Feliciana- Female Italy (District 12, replaced by Lovina)  
> Alaric- Germania (District 12; friend of Romulus)
> 
> Extras:  
> Oramela- Stylist for District 4


	5. Chapter 5

**District 12-Lovina**

Effie is flipping out over our successful debut. She’s positively hysterical. I guess that’s to be expected. After all, Antonio and I are the only tributes she’s ever sponsored who have made a splash. But Effie doesn’t need to be so damn happy about it.

Despite our success, I’m in one of my moods. I smiled during the parade, but all the while I thought about how all these people watching us, cheering for us, simply wanted to watch us kill each other. I was dressed up like one of their turkeys.

“Unfortunately,” Effie says, “I can’t line up sponsors for you. Only Sadiq is allowed to do that, and I haven’t seen him since this morning. But don’t you worry, dear. I’ll get him to it at gunpoint if necessary.”

Although the woman is severely lacking in both looks and smarts, she has a certain determination that I have to admire. Maybe Antonio and I aren’t so screwed, after all.

I run off to take a shower. There are so many buttons, the on/off knob is lost, so I just press a random one. I am immediately bombarded with lemon-scented conditioner. Not what I want. Next button: water squirts out from beneath me. I make a mental note not to press that button again.

Finally, I succeed in turning on the water, and by chance I activate the soap dispenser. It takes a few tries (during which I am scrubbed by bristly brushes, sprayed with orange-and-chamomile scent, and drenched in a foul-smelling oil), but eventually I locate a shampoo, and I get lavender-scented hair. I rewash my body with soap and step out onto the mat, only to be met with hot gushes of air that feels as if it is trying to strip my skin from my body. I place my hand on a box and a current of air scrapes through my scalp, detangling my hair and allowing it to float around my shoulders in a glossy, chocolate-colored curtain.

I then program the wardrobe and receive an outfit that suits my sense of style. Jeans and a plain white dress shirt work for me. A remote near my bed allows me to view the city using the window as a screen, and even choose scenery and sounds. I pause for a bit on the forest scene. It looks and sounds so much like the woods at home. Catching myself getting homesick, I shake my head and change the scene back to the city.

Effie knocks at my door to announce that dinner is served. She doesn’t wait for me to join her, so I walk to the dining room alone.

China is joining us for dinner, and when I enter he offers me a glass of wine. I’ve never had real wine before, although my mother told me that my father used to make the best wine. I take the glass, and one sip tells me that the beverage needs honey in it to make it worthwhile.

Sadiq shows up just as dinner is being served. He’s cleaned up and sober. I offer him the rest of my wine, and he takes it before handing me a glass of milk. “You’re going to need strong bones for the Games.”

When he starts to eat his carrot soup, I realize this is the first time I’ve really seen him eat. Sure, he’s had a few nibbles of bread or fruit here and there, but for the most part he seems to have been living of a diet of that damn alcohol he always consumes. It’s a relief to see him acting a bit more human.

China has a calming effect on Effie and Sadiq, it seems, because they don’t fight whatsoever during the meal. My guess is that they don’t wish to seem uncivilized in front of a new stylist, but I might be wrong.

At the end of the meal, a servant girl walks in with a large, beautiful cake and sets it on table before lighting the candles atop it on fire. In the glow of the candles, I get a clear look at her face.

And I recognize that face.

**District 4-Victoire**

Heracles just sits there as Oramela screams at him. She’s pissed that her creations were not the most noticed costumes at the parade, and she’s putting all the blame on us.

But Heracles doesn’t bat an eyelash. A couple of times, he even sleeps a bit. Giving up on Heracles as a lost cause, Oramela changes tack and turns her attention to me.

Her words sort of fly over my head, but enough is getting through to hurt. _Lazy. Ugly. Whore. Stupid._ These words shouldn’t affect me. I’m a trained fighter; I should be acting like Heracles. But instead my stupid emotions get in the way, and I react with tears and cringing. 

Oramela is getting angrier and angrier. She raises her hand, ready to slap me. I close my eyes and shy away as her hand comes whipping down.

The impact never comes. I peek from behind my arms, and find that Heracles has woken up from his latest nap, and has Oramela’s wrist in a tight grasp. He bends it backward slowly but firmly, until the stylist stops making threats and starts pleading. And still he applies pressure, ignoring her cries of pain and the approaching footsteps that signal the imminent arrival of Francis. He doesn’t let go of her wrist until, with a sickening _crack_ , the bone breaks beneath his fingers.

Howling and screaming in agony, Oramela runs about the room, as if she's in so much pain she's going to die. It’s standard in District Four to have a bone broken at some point in training, so I know the feeling. I also know that nobody ever reacts so dramatically to a broken wrist in our district. This sort of thing is what truly differentiates the Capitolites and the district people.

I have to look away from both Oramela and Heracles; Oramela because she’s being ridiculous, and Heracles because once again he has surprised me. This time I’m not sure I like it.

Francis arrives in the room, takes one look at the hysterical Oramela, and takes control. Before long Oramela is out of the room and on her way to the hospital ward, convinced by Francis’s smooth words that it is in her best interest to feign her injury as caused by a careless fall. This leaves me alone with Heracles.

Luckily, he’s fallen asleep again, so I simply sneak off to my bedroom and climb under the covers.

What is it about Heracles that disturbs me so much? I trained alongside him at home. I know he’s a seasoned fighter. I should be, too, and yet I’m finding myself more and more affected by small things that never fazed me before. I’ve seen lots of kids get their bones broken, I’ve seen people breaking other people’s bones. I grew up with the mindset of a killer. And now, when I finally have a chance to put to use all my training, all my preparation, I’ve lost all my resolve. I’ve become another weakling, a girl like any other in any district. The kind of girl who dies in the arena.

And Heracles, despite his lethargy, is showing himself to be the kind of person who wins. If District Four has a hope, it’s Heracles, not me.

**District 12-Lovina**

The lights are out in my bedroom, but my mind is whirling. I _know_ I’ve seen that girl before.

When I asked China about the girl, all he said was she is an “Avox”. He explained what it is, but he didn’t know anything more.

I remember the time and place when I saw that girl. It was the only time Antonio didn’t join me to hunt. He had caught a bad cold, and his mother refused to allow him out of the house. I couldn’t put off hunting another day, so I went out alone. I had just killed a large buck when the girl ran out of some bushes near me, followed closely by a taller boy with brown hair.

Startled, I hid in a copse. The girl looked much as she does now, the same long brown hair, decorated with two pink flower clips. Soon after she emerged in the clearing, a large craft blotted out the sun, and she screamed for help. A harpoon shot out of the bottom of the ship and pierced the boy’s chest. Over the drone of the ship, I heard the girl yell, “Yong Soo!” Then a tractor beam caught her, and though she struggled, she was pulled aboard. While she was being taken, her eyes locked onto mine, and never left until she was out of sight.

I was able to put the memory out of my mind until now. Now, however, I’m confronted with feelings of regret, shame, and anger. I roll over, but I can’t get comfortable in these downy sheets. Everywhere I look in the dark room I see that girls face.

The door creaks a bit as it cracks open. The light from the hallway is still on, giving me a glimpse of a female silhouette before the door closes again. The long hair that swished when the figure entered the room tells me who the visitor is.

I wait a few minutes, unsure of where the girl is. Then, with a flicker, a candle is lit, illuminating the face of the Avox girl who holds it. Her face has no emotion in it, or perhaps it is simply hard to decipher because of the changing light of the candle. Whatever the reason, I feel a thrill of terror as the girl inches closer to my bed. She must know I’m awake; the candlelight has fallen on my face.

I glance at the hand that does not hold the candle. No weapon of any kind. She’s not here to kill me, then. Or perhaps she means to smother me with a pillow. I can think of no reason for a visit other than to get revenge on me, for not helping her when she needed it.

The candle is placed on the side table, near a small vase containing a rose and a peony. The girl bends down, peering at my face, as if to verify that I am the person she is looking for. She still wears no expression.

As she is unable to, it is my job to break the silence. I whisper, “What do you want with me?”

Her eyes widen. She clearly did not expect me to speak. Instead of fleeing, though, she turns and opens a drawer in the side table, extracting a pen and pad of paper that Effie told me were part of my “complementary” package, whatever that means. The girl scribbles something on the pad, and holds it up to the light so I can see it. I sit up a bit to read the message.

_You are the girl from the woods?_

I nod. She writes some more.

_That is what I wanted to know._

She moves to put the pad away, and I know this means she plans to leave. Now that she has ascertained my identity, she has no further business.

But I don’t want her to go. I grab her wrist. “Wait!”

She waits. I release her wrist.

“What is your name?”

I don’t know why I ask her that. I just need a reason to make her stay.

She writes her answer out on the pad. _Meimei_.

“I’m Lovina.”

_I know. You are here with your boyfriend?_

I shake my head. “Friend. That’s it. Nothing more.”

Meimei smiles knowingly, and continues to write. _The boy who died, he was my ‘friend’, too. His name was Im Yong Soo. They did not spare his life._

“Meimei, I’m so sorry, but I couldn’t have helped you. They would have captured me, too.”

I’m hit with how shallow that sounds, without the context of my family to back it up. But Meimei doesn’t seem offended. _I understand. Why risk your life for a stranger? It would have done no good._

I am out of things to say to Meimei, but I still don’t want to be left alone in this strange room. She seems to sense that, because she writes a few sentences, places the pad and pen on the table, and with a wave, exits the room. I pick up the pad and read what has been left.

_Do not be scared. As long as you are here, you are safe. But when you must enter the arena, you must make a promise—to me, to yourself, to your family back home—that you will not turn into a scared child, or a mindless killer. You must do your best to show the Capitol that you are not just a pawn in their games. I wish you the best of luck._

I read and reread the note, absorbing the words that an unexpected new friend has left for me. She would have been a very good friend had she lived in District 12 with me. If only circumstances had been different.

I rip the note from the pad, and tear the other pages from it, too. I rip up the ones that Meimei has written on, save the note, and throw them away with the blank pages and the empty shell of the pad. No need to leave them out where some attendant could see them; Meimei would face the consequences for sure. I fold up the note and search for a place to hide it, somewhere I’ll remember when I have to leave for the arena. Unfortunately, the only place I can think of is my cleavage, since I have no guarantee that I will be able to bring anything from this room with me.

With the note concealed in its intimate hiding place, I burrow under the covers and allow myself to relax, until I fall asleep.

**District 3-Ludwig**  

The shower is basically a death trap, minus the death. I still have not got the hang of it. This time I am drenched in a lemony-smelling foam that has to be scraped off. It’s almost as if the buttons change function every day.

Once I’ve successfully washed and avoided the air-mat, I exit the bathroom to find a pair of black pants, a long-sleeve green tunic, and leather shoes. It doesn’t look exactly comfortable, but since it’s been laid out for me, it must mean I am supposed to wear it. I don the required clothing and venture back to the mirror. Since arriving, I’ve discovered a tub of hair gel, which allows me to slick my hair back out of my eyes. Usually such frivolous stuff as appearance would not be my sort of thing, but besides being useful, I find it makes me seem more authoritarian, and I feel a bit of intimidation would do me good.

I head to the dining room, hoping there will be food. I am not disappointed. A long table on the side of the room is laden with all sorts of delicacies, just ripe for the picking. A young Avox man gestures to a pile of plates, indicating, I am sure, that I am to help myself. Perhaps this is what the Capitolites call a buffet?

I add an egg, some batter cakes smothered in thick orange preserves, and a huge pile of sausages to my plate. There are labels on the dishes, to help differentiate between the types of sausage and eggs. My favourite is the wurst. It’s calming to eat it while watching the sun rise.

My mind wanders to Louise. While I am gorging myself on wurst, she is most likely eating a meager meal of cold leftovers. It’s almost enough to make me regret my appetite. But she’s safe at home, while I will need this extra protein to survive in the arena. If I am to die, which I must, eating this meal will not matter. It will simply have been an attempt to make me comfortable before my slaughter.

**District 10-Toris**

I can tell Feliks is irritated. We were given the same outfit to wear today: purple tunics, brown leather pants and brown shoes. This is clearly a violation of his fashion code.

Felka just laughs at her brother’s frustration, popping grapes into her mouth between guffaws. It’s really making me nervous how little she seems to care for us. I get the feeling she isn’t even trying to help us win.

Today is the day that the tributes train together, the first time we’ll get to see our competition in action before the Games. It’s when the Career Pack will be formed and when everyone plans the preferred order of killing. Some will be looking for weaklings to pick off; others will target the strong ones, to get them out of the game first, while they’re in their prime. I honestly don’t know how I stand in this.

During breakfast, I try to extract a few tips from Felka, to no avail. She’s too busy laughing at everything I say, and eating those stupid grapes. I’m beginning to suspect that she may be a little drunk. 

When I look at Feliks, I have no doubt how the competition will see him. With that tiny braid he has added to his hair in an attempt to accessorize, and his pouting face, even I can see that he’s a weak player. He won’t last in the arena; it will be a miracle if he makes it through the first day. It would be better to put him out of his misery at the very start, before he has to face the wilderness that is the arena. But I don’t want to be the one to do it.

I really need to stop making a list of people I don’t want to kill. Granted, that list is only two people long right now, but that’s still two too many. In a life-or-death match, I need to be prepared to kill everyone. 

**District 12-Lovina**

“Don’t go to the archery station.”

I peer at Sadiq over my mug of orange-flavoured hot chocolate. “Excuse me?”

“It’s all about the element of surprise. You’re an unknown to everyone else. Keeping your archery skills a secret can only help you.”

I glance at Antonio. He shrugs and continues peeling an orange.

Sadiq pushes his plate away and directs his attention to Antonio. “As for you, stay clear of the snares. I know you’re good at trapping things, but we don’t want people to know that and be on the lookout for snares. For you, it might be even more important that we keep things a surprise. Is that clear?”

Antonio nods.

“One last thing,” Sadiq says. “When in public, I want you two to be together at all times. Joined at the hip. Inseparable. Magnets. Got that? It’s not open for discussion, so don’t even try to argue with me. You must present the appearance of total alliance. Even better, _be_ a total alliance. Meet Effie at the elevator at ten.”

And with that abrupt change of subject, Sadiq stalks out of the dining room, a smudge of preserves staining his shoulder.

**District 10-Toris**

We step into the elevator around ten, joining the kids from District 12. They’re sticking close, not out of necessity (it’s pretty crowded in the elevator), but out of choice. Meanwhile, Feliks is lounging against the window, huffing in exasperation. He wasn’t allowed to change his clothes.

It’s a bit of an awkward ride down, since we’re stuck in a small box with two people we’re supposed to kill in a few days. But it gets worse when we reach the third floor.

The elevator comes to an unexpected stop, and the doors open to reveal the two hulking brutes otherwise known as the tributes of District 3. Both are tall, blond, and intimidating, and even Feliks, who is usually too distracted to notice such things, cowers from them as they squeeze into the elevator, leaving their guide behind. I just have to hope we don’t stop at floors one or two. They would probably toss us out to make room.

The already tense atmosphere gets worse. The District 12 girl is glowering at the shorter of the two blonds, the one who volunteered for the girl. He’s glancing at her every now and then, wearing an expression of mixed exasperation and annoyance. She averts her eyes when he glances at her, but the scowl remains.

It’s a relief when the elevator dings and we’re on the ground floor. We exit in the reverse order we entered, and I swear I hear the elevator sigh when the weight of eight people disappears from it.

We’re the last group to enter to training rooms, earning us the awkward stares that late students receive upon entering a classroom. I hear the District 12 boy murmuring something to the girl, presumably something calming, since she seems peeved.

As we join the circle of tributes, someone pins numbers to our backs, to show, if anyone forgot, which district we are from.

A tall, athletic woman named Atala steps up and begins to explain the training schedule. Experts at each station, any station you want, no combative exercise with other tributes and no deaths, please.

I glance around at the other tributes. Districts 1, 2 and 4 have brought some tough ones. The brother and sister pairs from 1 and 2 look like they could kill in any way they wished. I have my doubts about the girl from District 4, but I have no doubt that her sleepy companion is formidable. Of course, there are also the unusually strong-looking boys from District 3, and there is that tall blond from District 5, as well. I could probably take the girl from District 6 down easily; there’s the boy from 8 that I can’t kill, no matter what the circumstance; District 9’s girl tribute looks like she could outwit me any day, and I’m strangely intimidated by her male partner. I’m not sure what to think of 11’s tributes.

All in all, it’s a weird assortment. There are more males in the pool than usual; although it’s come to be expected of 5, it’s rare that 3 or 10 would do the same.

A sharp whistle blows, and everyone scatters in all directions.

**District 12- Lovina**

As I head over to the knot-tying station, I watch what our competition is up to. The female from 2 is throwing knives with deadly accuracy, while the pair from 1 are beating up assistants left and right. Many of the tributes are over at the weights, preparing themselves for the harsh conditions we might have to face in the arena. This leaves the knot-tying station conveniently open.

After about an hour, we move on to the camouflage station, where we are joined by District 7. The boy is really good at it, dying his light hair brown and smothering his pale skin to match any background. The girl has a bit more trouble with it, getting impatient at the slightest mistake. I would laugh, but I’m having the same problem.

As the three days of training sweep by, the Gamemakers drop in to observe us. Many times I catch them looking at me intensely, as if looking for something special. I can only hope I don’t disappoint them.

We try to steer clear of any stations that are too crowded, preferring to keep to ourselves, but sometimes it’s impossible to avoid company. The couple from 7 keep popping up near us, and I hate it; they remind me of Antonio and I, and I can’t let myself get sentimental. The pair from 2 keep glaring at us. Actually, it’s the girl from 2; her brother seems to have a permanent smile fixed on his face, which only serves to scare me more. I receive mediocre threats from the District 1 girl, and, in contrast, get a little wave from one of the boys from 10.

At lunch, we enter a dining room off the gymnasium and serve ourselves from carts. The Careers always get the most, but there’s still plenty of food. The Careers also tend to sit at one table together.

Lunch is one of the best times to observe the emerging social order, and thus the potential alliances. District Four’s girl seems a bit out of the loop, as if she’s just sitting with the Careers because of her hometown. Most of the tributes eat with their District partner, doing their best not to form friendships.

On the second day, Antonio leans over during training and whispers, “I think we have a shadow.”

I throw the spear I’m holding, and, without turning too much, I catch a glimpse of the boy from 8. He’s young, maybe as young as Feliciana, and just as innocent.

As I pick up another spear, Antonio whispers, “I think his name is Raivas.”

Now that I know he’s there, it’s harder to ignore him. And I find it harder not to care about him.

**District 7-Elizaveta**

I can’t tell if Gilbert’s putting on a show or if he’s sincere. We’ve both noticed how chummy the two from 12 have been, and when we told Julchen, she said we might do well to imitate them, to throw the competition for a loop. But Gilbert is so much better at feigning interest than I am, and sometimes he continues the act after we’ve left the other tributes. It’s messing with my mind, and I don’t like it.

Somehow, Julchen was able to sneak some mail into the Capitol, and during breakfast on the final day of training she slips me a letter. I open it under the table and read it. It’s from Roderich.

_Dear Elizaveta,_

_How are you? I assume you are eating well? You’ll need your strength for the Games._

_But I am writing to you for a different reason. I realized that my actions during the Reaping were curt, to say the least, and I wish to apologize. I really am worried for you, Liz, not because I doubt you can do it, but because I’m afraid there will be someone else who can, too. Be safe, and come home, Liz. I wish it were someone else in your place._

_And one more thing. I wouldn’t trust anyone in the arena, not even Mr. Beilschmidt. You never know what someone is hiding up their sleeve._

_With love,_

_Roderich_

 I smile, and tuck the letter into my teal tunic. That day, I’m easily able to hold a conversation with Gilbert.

**District 12-Lovina**

The third day, they begin calling us out at lunch for our private session with the Gamemakers. The room empties steadily, until it’s just Antonio and I. And then, just me.

Finally, they call my name, and I proceed to the gymnasium. Instantly, I know I’m in trouble. The bastards are restless, having watched twenty-three other performances. They’ve probably had too much wine, and most of them want more than anything to go home.

I proceed to the archery station. I choose a bow, throw a matching quiver over my shoulder, and take a few practice shots to get used to how the bow handles.

I sever the rope that holds the boxing sandbag in the air. I shoulder-roll and come up with a flawless shot into one of the ceiling lamps. A shower of sparks cascades upon me from the fixture. 

Unfortunately, the Gamemakers are more concerned with a newly arrived roast pig.

I’m furious. My life is on the line, and these bastards can’t even be bothered to pay a bit of goddamn attention to me. I can feel my face burning, my hands itching. Without thinking, I pull an arrow from my quiver and send it straight into the Gamemakers’ seats. The arrow skewers the apple in the dead pig’s mouth and sends it into the wall behind. Now I have the attention of those idiots.

I bow and say, “Thank you for your consideration.” Then I leave without a dismissal.

**District 5-Erik**

When I’m in the elevator, leaving the private session, I can’t help but feel like a failure. I didn’t really do much, after all, just sort of tied some knots and ate some edible plants. I did tear up one of the dummies with a knife, but that’s not much fun to watch.

I ignore Mathias’s grin upon entering our suite, and meander to my bed. I don’t want to hear how successful my friend’s session was. I know for a fact that he impressed the Gamemakers. How could he possibly do anything less?

I know I’ve failed. I’ll get a ridiculously low score and become an easy target right off the bat. I’ll probably be dead in a day. And even though I’ve expected this outcome, I still don’t think I can resign myself to it happening.

There’s a bookshelf in my room; until now, I’ve neglected to use it, choosing instead to munch on licorice while I daydream. But now, on a whim, I pick up a book and sit back on my bed, flipping through the pages.

It’s a very old book, with lots of pictures and no Capitol propaganda. The pictures are so beautiful, filled with colour. There are grassy plains covered with patches of white snow, beautiful birds called puffins flying in an icy sky, ‘geysers’ creating a misty veil over the land, even a volcano spewing its orange and yellow sparks and cascades of molten fire. The scenery is heavenly, and I get this feeling that that is where I belong.

I flip the book over and read the title, something I have previously neglected to do. _Iceland: A Photographic Guide_. Iceland. Even the name sounds beautiful. A world of frost, but in reality a world filled with beauty and colour. It’s where I’m meant to be.

I’ve always felt like I was born in the wrong place. I’ve wished for colder climates and time to daydream, surrounded not by poverty but by nature. Now I know what my dream is: to sit on the Icelandic ground, a puffin on my head and a bowl of licorice in my lap.

Okay, the puffin is a long stretch, but it really is a beautiful bird. There is nothing like them in District 5. I doubt they live anywhere in Panem.

“Erik! It’s time for the scores!”

Mathias bounds into my room and drags me down the hall to the big television that dominates the sitting room. Now is the moment of truth. This is when my embarrassment is made public.

The siblings from 1 and 2 get within the eight-to-ten range, while District 4’s tributes get a 7 and a 4. That’s unusual, but not unheard of. 3 ranks with the Careers, Mathias gets a 7, and I’m next, with a 5. Not bad, but not good, either. District 7 ranks with Mathias, as does 9 and 11. Everyone else averages a 5.

The boy from District 12 pops up, with an eight. And the girl…oh my gosh. She got an eleven.

Mathias is getting pats on the back from our stylists. He’s grinning from ear to ear, proud to have pulled above a five. But he still hugs me and congratulates me on my good work. 

  **District 7-Elizaveta**

My green satin dress feels cold on my skin. In contrast, Gilbert’s navy-and-red jacket and pants seem to be keeping him extra warm. All the tributes are gathered in chairs, waiting on the side of the stage to be called for an interview.

In comparison to my rather billowy dress, the girl from District 1 is wearing what appears to be a cloth tied around her breasts, and the shortest skirt imaginable. She’s flaunting it on stage for all it’s worth, getting hoots and whistles from the men in the audience.

Her brother wins the hearts of all the women by simply flashing them a smile. He’s followed by the girl from 2, whose icy glare gives everyone the feeling that she is not someone to mess with. She's a veritable ice queen; it's possible she makes more of an impression than her brother.

District 3 does not have a chance of winning on personality. Four’s female is wimpy, and the boy, Heracles, literally sleeps through the entire interview. Mathias Køhler’s bubbly personality is a bonus for him, but his fellow tribute has a cold personality that pushes everyone away. The boy from six is too polite, and his sister is so clearly a weakling that all hopes of sponsors are gone at this point.

Then it’s my turn. I’m careful not to trip on my skirts as I take my place in the chair next to Caesar Flickerman.

“Hello, young lady! My, what a pretty dress you have!”

“Thank you,” I say.

“Well, Elizaveta, it certainly suits you! Don’t you think, everyone?”

The crowd cheers. Caesar is a whiz at working the crowd.

“So, Liz—can I call you Liz?—what has impressed you most about the Capitol?”

I’m nervous in front of all these people. I need to get them to like me, to contribute. “Um…I guess the food? There’s so much that’s new to me, I don’t even know where to start.”

“I can imagine! So, what’s your favorite food so far?”                                                                                  

“Well, I particularly enjoyed the roasted chicken. There was this spice on it that tasted like heaven…I think it was called poperka?”

The audience laughs, and Caesar chuckles good-naturedly. “Paprika, you mean? Yes, that’s one of my personal favourite seasonings! I take it you don’t have paprika in District Seven?”

I shake my head. “No, we get by without it.”

“Not to change the subject, but we only have so much time. What do you think of your fellow tributes? Any fears or doubts?”

I think for a bit. “I’m a bit afraid I’ll eat too much good food. I don’t want to slow myself down in the arena! That would be a stupid way to die, don’t you think?” I force a giggle, and the audience giggles along with me.

“What about back home, Liz? Anyone waiting for you?”

I smile sadly. “Yes, I have a boyfriend, Roderich. I miss him a lot, but I have to think about surviving now. When I win, that’s when I can think about him again.” I look to the cameras. “Sorry, Roderich!”

The timer goes off, and my time is up. Caesar hugs me, and I sit down while Gilbert climbs up to take my spot.

“And here we have Gilbert Beilschmidt, also of District 7! And my, what a contrast we have! Pale, light-grayish-white hair…you’re almost the complete opposite of Miss Liz!”

Gilbert flashes a winning smile. “And basically everyone back home, too. I don’t know if you guys have it, but I’m something called albino. And I have to say, I’m one of the better-looking ones, too!” He laughs, and the audience yells assurance to him. It’s clear he’s going for the confident, funny angle with this interview. But he could also just be being himself.

Caesar pats Gilbert on the back. “There are certainly some people in the Capitol that look like you, but not naturally! How lucky you are!”

“First time I’ve heard that,” Gilbert says. “Most people just think I’m a freak of nature—which I guess I kind of am. Me and my cousin both. I’m sure you remember Julchen?”

There are cheers from the audience, and Julchen stands up from her seat at the front of the stage and bows elaborately. She’s greeted with applause, and Caesar has to work hard to quiet everyone down.

“Back to you now, Gilbert. I’m shocked! You must have a girlfriend back home, though, right?”

Gilbert shakes his head no. There are gasps of surprise from the audience.

“Well, surely you have a special girl in mind!”

Gilbert hesitates, then, dropping his smile, he nods. I swear the audience is holding their breaths.

“Well, once you win the Hunger Games, she’ll just have to take you, won’t she?”

“Not likely,” Gilbert says. “You see, she came here with me.”

….

……..

………………..

When my mind dials back in and stops coming up with dots, I realize that the cameras are directed at me, and it only confirms what I have begun to think.

Gilbert means me.

Embarrassed, I bury my face in my hands. The crowd is in an uproar, cheers and sentiments and whatever else flying from them. Whatever else happens during the interviews, Gilbert has guaranteed that his will be memorable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tributes:  
> Lovina Vargas-Female South Italy (District 12)  
> Antonio- Spain (District 12)  
> Alfred Jones-America (District 1)  
> Emily Jones- Female America (District 1)  
> Ivan Braginski- Russia (District 2)  
> Natalia - Belarus (District 2, sister to Ivan)  
> Ludwig- Germany (District 3; friend of Louise)  
> Berwald- Sweden (District 3)  
> Heracles-Greece (District 4)  
> Victoire-Seychelles (District 4)  
> Mathias-Denmark (District 5)  
> Erik-Iceland (District 5)  
> Kiku- Japan (District 6)  
> Sakura- Female Japan (District 6, sister to Kiku)  
> Elizaveta- Hungary (District 7)  
> Gilbert- Prussia (District 7)  
> District 8 Female (Unnamed)  
> Raivas- Latvia (District 8)  
> Lien- Vietnam (District 9)  
> Vash-Switzerland (District 9)  
> Feliks-Poland (District 10)  
> Toris-Lithuania (District 10)  
> Belle-Belgium (District 11)  
> Lars-Netherlands (District 11)
> 
> Mentors:  
> Sadiq-Turkey (plays Haymitch)  
> Julchen- Female Prussia (plays Johanna Mason, and is cousin to Gilbert)  
> Felka- Female Poland (District 10 mentor, Feliks’ older sister)  
> Francis-France (District 4, plays Finnick)  
> Yao-China (plays Cinna)
> 
> Citizens:  
> Tino- Finland (District 3, replaced by Berwald)  
> Louise- Female Germany (District 3, replaced by Ludwig)  
> Lukas-Norway (District 5; brother to Erik)  
> Roderich- Austria (District 7; Elizaveta’s boyfriend)  
> Peter-Sealand (District 8, friend of Raivas)  
> Lili-Liechtenstein (District 9, replaced by Vash)  
> Romulus- Ancient Rome (deceased; father of Lovina and Feliciana Vargas)  
> Feliciana- Female Italy (District 12, replaced by Lovina)  
> Alaric- Germania (District 12; friend of Romulus)
> 
> Extras:  
> Oramela- Stylist for District 4
> 
> Avox:  
> Meimei- Taiwan (her companion, the boy who was killed in the woods, was Im Yong Soo, or South Korea)


	6. Chapter 6

**District 7-Elizaveta**

I wait at the elevator door on floor seven for Gilbert to emerge. We got separated on the way up.

When he exits, I rush forward and slap him full force across the face, knocking him off-balance and into a potted plant. Julchen rushes forward from behind me to help him to his feet while our escort idlely frets in the background. Gilbert’s cheek is cut deeply, leaving red specks of blood on the pristine carpet. And I think his head broke the pot.

“What the hell was that for!” Gilbert says, astonished.

“You had no right!” I scream. “No right to say those things about me! How could you do that to me?”

“Liz, calm down!” Julchen says.

“No, I will not calm down! He made me look like a fool! I’d just gotten through telling everyone about Roderich, and then he comes in and—“

“He made you look desirable, Lizzie!” Julchen yells. “Now the entire country will see you as a girl worth keeping. I’ll admit Roderich’s mention threw a bit of a wrench in the plan, but in the long run it’s going to help. You are all they’re talking about, Lizzie. The star-crossed lovers from District 7.”

“But we’re not!”

Julchen grabs my shoulders. “It’s a show, nothing more! Think about it. Now I can say you’re a heartbreaker, that there are boys back home who literally drop to your feet in the hopes they’ll win your heart! It gets more sponsors than a nice girl with a boyfriend back home.”

I shove Julchen away.

Gilbert smirks. “She’s just worried that _Roderich,_ ” he says the name with a sneer “will get upset.”

My cheeks burn, not the least because it’s true. Roderich is going to have to watch his girlfriend and a boy he’s always hated flirting, if I go along with Julchen’s plan.

“You shouldn’t be worried,” Julchen says. “You never said you loved Gilbert, so Roderich will catch on. And if he doesn’t, he’s not smart enough to deserve you.” She snorts. 

**District 12-Lovina**

I don’t see Antonio in the morning, but China comes to greet me before the sun has a chance to say hello. He gives me a robe and we proceed to the roof to be picked up by a hovercraft. Once inside, a white-coated woman inserts a needle painfully into my arm and tells me that she has injected the tracker. Now the Gamemakers will know where I am at all times.

When the hovercraft lands, China and I descend into the catacombs beneath the arena, where I’m handed my outfit to change into. I’m able to keep Meimei’s note hidden in my cleavage. In the past, everyone wore the same outfit in the arena, but during the lull between last year and this year, the Capitol voted to change that rule, and now, as an experiment, there are a few tributes who will be wearing something different. It would appear I am not one of them.

“They told the stylists yesterday,” China says. I look at him quizzically, and he continues, “The tributes who would be dressing differently. There’s no harm in me telling you, since you’ll see everyone when you enter the arena.” He begins to count them off on his fingers as he lists them off. “Alfred Jones, from District 1, is wearing his bomber jacket, and an old army uniform. Ivan Braginski of District 2 gets to keep his clothing. Mathias Køhler of District 5, Sakura Honda of District 6, and Lars from District 11 all get to wear other clothing, too. They were chosen randomly. I’d say they’re at a distinct disadvantage, because they’ll stand out. Make sure to familiarize yourself with their attire, so you can spot it in the arena.”

I nod, running through the names in my head, trying to assign them to faces. Alfred Jones…he was that cocky jerk, wasn’t he? And Ivan was one of the intimidating tall ones. I can’t remember which one exactly, though. The rest don’t come so easily.

Wearing my black pants, light green t-shirt, brown belt and black jacket, along with the leather boots, I position myself on the Launch Pad, ready to ascend into the arena. Before it begins to move, though, China extracts my gold pin from his pocket.

“I thought you might want this. It barely passed inspection; they thought it might be usable as a weapon. You know, the girl from 2 had her token confiscated. It was a ring, and if you twisted the gemstone, a spike popped out, covered in poison. Of course, she claimed she had no idea it could do that, but really, what is the likelihood of that?”

I nervously bite my lip. In only a few minutes, I’ll be leaving the safety of this room, and I’ll be in the arena, one of twenty-four boys and girls who could lose their lives here. China sees my nervousness, and he rests his hands on my shoulders.

“Lovina, you have no need to worry. I have faith in you. I’m not allowed to bet, but if I could, I would bet on you a thousand times over.” He pats my cheek and backs up. A glass cylinder slides down, and my platform shoots upward. I watch China as long as I can, until all I see in front of me is darkness, the only light coming from the rapidly approaching opening in the ground. I reach it, and then I am standing on the plate, waiting for the gong, surrounded by the other tributes, facing the Cornucopia.

We have to wait sixty seconds before leaving our metal circles, or we’ll be blown to bits by the mines laid around them.

It’s so, so tempting to rush to the Cornucopia, with all its bountiful food and weapons, every kind of supply I might need to survive in the forest that I can see. There’s even a silver bow and matching arrows lying atop a pile of blankets.

I know the Career Pack is going to dominate at the Cornucopia, and I can’t stand the idea of their ugly mitts on my bow. That’s right, it’s mine. It’s clearly meant for me.

I’m fast; I could make it to the Cornucopia and grab the bow. The only question is how I would extract myself from the fray. At close range, I’m practically useless.

I glance around to memorize the outfits of my fellow tributes, and then I catch Antonio’s eye. He shakes his head at me, warning me, no doubt, that it would be a stupid mistake to approach the shining golden horn.

In the split second that I begin to doubt my plan, the gong rings, and everyone else has begun to sprint for the horn. Cursing my stupidity, I catch sight of an orange backpack not too far from me, and instead make that my goal. On the way I scoop up an orange, for food in case the backpack is empty.

I reach the backpack at the same time as the girl from District 11, ripping it out of her hands and pushing her over. As I do so, I see a glint of steel out of the corner of my eye, and duck just in time for the knife to fly past me, burying itself in the trunk of a tree. The girl from District 2 has got her hands on a whole arsenal of knives, and she’s deadly skilled at using them. I sling the pack over my shoulder and sprint for the forest, and cover.

I feel a thump, but I keep running, putting as much distance between myself and the Cornucopia as I can. I lost my orange during the tussle for the pack, so I have both hands free to push branches aside. For the next few hours, I alternate jogging, walking, and hiding. I stop only once, to dislodge the knife from my backpack—it was the source of the thump. It’s a serrated one, perfect for sawing things. I’m not sure why the girl threw it. I hold it in my hand, on alert for an ambush.

There’s no sign of running water. Just dead leaves and packed dirt.

Being in the woods is rejuvenating. I’ve missed the wilderness. This is where I belong, surrounded by trees. Not cooped up in a tall building, dressing in elaborate gowns and gorging myself on over-embellished foodstuffs.

As the sky begins to darken, I hear the cannons, announcing the deaths of tributes. It’s surprisingly low for the first day: only two deaths. Later tonight they’ll project their pictures into the sky. I hope Antonio is not one of them. I wonder about the girl I fought with. Did the knife-throwing girl kill her? I guess I’ll know in a few hours.

I take the time to go through the contents of the pack, making a mental note to camouflage it at the first opportunity. I sincerely hope there is water in the pack.

There’s not, although there us a bottle to carry it in. There’s also a thin black sleeping bag that reflects body heat, a packet of dried beef strips, a bottle of iodine, some saltine crackers and a bit of cheese, a box of matches a tiny bit of wire, and a spare pair of socks.

I become aware of an unpleasant dryness in my throat and mouth. I’ve been moving all day, with no water. I’m hungry, too, but I don’t want to break into my rations yet. Instead I use my knife to cut away the bark of a tree and pry out the soft inner bark. It’s an unwelcome change from the fancy-ass food I’ve been eating for a week but I’ve eaten plenty of pine in my life. I’ll re-adjust.

In another hour, it’s clear I need to find a place to camp. I’ll have to wait until tomorrow to find water. I use the wire to set a couple of snares, in hopes of snagging some rabbits. I’ve caught glimpses of them during my trek, so at least I know I won’t go hungry.

I carefully pick a willow tree for my nest. By that I mean I sling the sleeping bag into a fork in the tree and then wiggle into it, using my belt to secure myself to the branch that supports me. It’s not at all comfortable, but it’s better than sleeping on the cold hard ground.

Night has just come when the anthem plays, signaling the beginning of the death recap. I take a deep breath and say a prayer as the first image appears.

The girl from District 8. I never really cared much for her. No big loss.

The final face is the girl I fought with, from District 11. Seeing her innocent face up in the sky pains me more than I’m willing to admit.

**District 4- Victoire**

I heave a sigh of relief. So Heracles made it. He’s alive.

I’ve no doubt that he ended up in the Career Pack. He was welcomed into the group at the training room with open arms, despite his outward show of laziness. Meanwhile, I had acted as the little wannabe, hanging around simply because my district was one of the good ones.

I’m on my own now, though, with only a small satchel of supplies: a filled water bottle, some iodine, a couple of apples, and a bag of dried fruits and meats. It won’t last very long, especially if I eat like I normally do.

It’s cold, and I’d like to build a fire, but even I know that that would be a foolish move. I need to avoid drawing attention to myself if I’m going to make it through the Games.

There’s a small opening in one of the pines, and I inspect it to see if there is anything useful stashed away. No supplies, but if I can squeeze in, it might provide a relatively safe place to spend the night.

It takes some maneuvering, but I manage to wriggle in, receiving a splinter. I push my satchel to the back, and, curled up with my knees hugged to my chest, I use it as a pillow. It’s still cold, but I don’t dare stop up the hole—it would be too obvious if there were leaves piled up at the entrance.

But I can’t sleep. I hear creatures creeping around in the forest, and I can’t identify which footfalls belong to humans, big animals, or rabbits. I should have made for the lake; the water is my natural habitat, and I could have found a nice underwater cavern and created an air pocket or something.

_Snap!_ I freeze, holding my breath. Branches continue to snap; it can only be a tribute. There’s a bit of rustling, and then a flash of light as a fire is lit. I can see small hands and a dainty face, but I can’t quite make out the identity of the person.

I bite my lip. Whoever this person is, they’re an idiot. And I’m not even a stone’s throw away. My first instinct is to flee, to get away from this dangerously stupid person. But moving now would spell my own death.

Somehow, the person makes it until dawn. I can see her now: it’s the girl from six, Sakura Honda, the other girl who got picked to wear different clothes. She’s got a warm-looking robe, pink and purple—unfortunate colours—and white socks and clogs. I fail to see why she needed a fire, when she’s better prepared for cold than I am. She’s not alone, either; her older brother is with her.

Then I hear it: several pairs of feet rushing through the undergrowth. The boy wakes up and tugs on the girl’s arm, but he’s gone before she wakes up, and soon, pack of tributes—the Careers—surround her, and she’s doomed. She’s pleading, screaming, sobbing, but it’s no use. She’s the third tribute to die. A cannon blast is heard. Someone, a girl, shouts out, “Three down, fourteen to go!” which gets a round of applause.

Through the gap in the tree, I spot Heracles among the group. His face is emotionless, albeit sleepy, and his trident is clean. He hasn’t had to kill anyone yet. The boys from Districts 1 and 2 can’t say the same, though. I saw the tall one, Ivan, murder the girl from eleven, and it only follows that the girl who died first must have been Alfred Jones’s victim. And from the congratulatory pats on the back she’s receiving, it’s clear that his sister, Amelia Jones, is responsible for Sakura Honda’s death. I repress a shudder; the siblings both wield heavy bats, but Amelia’s is embedded with sharp nails.

There are two other boys in the group. It’s easy to recognize the pale figure that is Gilbert Beilschmidt; even next to the Braginski siblings, he looks like a freak of nature. The other one…I suddenly recall his district, but not his name, yet it’s still enough to confuse me. District 12 never gets a place in the Career Pack.

**District 12-Lovina**

Looking down from my willow, I see the bloody corpse of the idiot who started the fire. She had it coming, letting out a signal like that, but it’s still pretty gruesome.

It’s not half as interesting as the members of the pack who killed her.

Antonio. He’s in the Career Pack. I don’t know why, but I feel a deep sense of betrayal.

A slight movement to my left causes me to look away. There’s a girl, the one from the interview…Elizaveta, I think. She’s hiding behind a tree, clutching a frying pan in one hand and a sword in the other, her eyes glued on the boy from her district. She seems to be going through the same disbelief as I am. But if she’s not careful, she’s going to get herself discovered.

Before I can turn away, she catches my eye and tenses. She hefts her sword, ready to throw it if need be into the branches. She could easily kill me before I even unstrap myself. But she hesitates, either because she knows killing me would draw the attention of the Career pack, or because she sees no point in killing me. We’re in the same situation.

I pray that the group will move on, but they take a while to search the body for supplies. They strip the girl, keeping her warm robes and the flint and steel she used to start the fire that led to her doom. Then, with a few corpse jokes, they swagger off through the forest.

Elizaveta waits a few minutes before coming out from behind the tree. I unstrap myself, roll up my sleeping bag, and climb down to stand opposite her. For a few seconds, we just stare. Then there’s movement, and a third girl, the one from District Four, slides out of a gap in a tree trunk with a backpack. She stops short when she sees us, but she doesn’t appear to be armed.

Now we just look back and forth, unsure of what to do. This other girl, despite her district, is an outcast of the Careers. Elizaveta must feel as betrayed as I do. Is it worth killing even one of them?

The waiting is unbearable. I turn away, leaving them to whatever path they are taking, and trust that they won’t kill me.

They don’t. The one time I look back, they’re nowhere in sight. 

**District 10- Toris**

Another day has dawned, and another cannon has gone off.  I wonder if this time it’s Feliks.

It surprises me that he wasn’t one of the first to die. I have no idea where he is now, but if he’s not dead, I may have underestimated him. I’m not sure how I feel about that.

I keep reminding myself that I have to work the cameras. I made no impression during the interviews, and neither did Feliks. We’ll be scraping the bottom for sponsors.

I stumble upon someone else’s snare, and pull the rabbit—a nice, fat one, perfect for eating—out. I recall my recent training and clean and gut the animal, burying the inedible parts, and build a fire. The entire time, I’m on alert. If I hear anything, I’m going to abandon the rabbit.

The daylight helps to conceal the fire, and I manage to cook the meat enough before I hear footsteps. I bolt, wrapping the cooked rabbit in the coat I picked up from around the Cornucopia to, hopefully, mask the scent.

Perhaps the reason so few tributes have died is that so few of us ran towards the Cornucopia. Most of us scattered, grabbing a few things here and there, and left the big stuff to the Career Pack. No point in dying early on. I wonder how the viewers like this.

I stop running when my lungs start to burn. I’m starving now, and thirsty, but there’s still no water in sight. I let myself drop to the forest floor and unwrap a bit of the meat. It will probably only make me more thirsty, but I need to eat something.

I’ve eaten half the rabbit when I hear the distinct sound of leaves crunching underfoot. My head snaps up, and I look over my shoulder dramatically for the cameras before scrambling up and hiding in a leafy bush. Too late, I realize that I’ve dropped the rabbit.

Finally, the footsteps emerge from the forest, and the owner of the feet stops in front of the rabbit. It takes me a minute to realize that it’s Feliks.

I hardly recognize him. He’s covered in dirt and blood from scrapes where he’s fallen, and his left cheek is still bleeding. He looks simultaneously exhausted and alert, like he’s been up all night avoiding enemies. There’s a look of fierce determination in his emerald eyes.

Feliks looks around, checking his surroundings, before cautiously picking up the rabbit. He sniffs it, and then takes a large, ungainly bite, tearing at the flesh with his teeth as if he’s never heard of manners. In a matter of minutes, the rabbit is reduced to bones.

This new side of Feliks scares me. I’m sure he can hear my heartbeat; it’s so loud in my ears that for a moment I think it’s a hovercraft flying overhead. But Feliks simply reaches into his pack and pulls out a bottle filled with clear liquid, setting it on the ground where the rabbit was.

Water. He’s leaving behind water.

I wait for ten minutes after he leaves, torn between retrieving the bottle before anyone else comes along and fearing a trap. Finally, my thirst wins out.

I guzzle half the bottle before I realize I should be saving it up. I quickly close the lid and grip the plastic bottle tightly, staring after Feliks. Part of it is theatrics; the other part is true disbelief at what I have just witnessed. How could the shallow, ditzy Feliks of yesterday become so rugged and determined in less than twenty-four hours? What has changed him? _Has_ he changed?

My hands are shaking. I hide them against my body and run in the opposite direction from Feliks, thinking of nothing except putting as much distance as I can between myself and the unknown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve decided not to continue posting this on ff.net. There have been too many changes to the original since I’ve begun posting on AO3. 
> 
> Tributes:  
> Lovina Vargas-Female South Italy (District 12)  
> Antonio- Spain (District 12)  
> Alfred Jones-America (District 1)  
> Emily Jones- Female America (District 1)  
> Ivan Braginski- Russia (District 2)  
> Natalia - Belarus (District 2, sister to Ivan)  
> Ludwig- Germany (District 3; friend of Louise)  
> Berwald- Sweden (District 3)  
> Heracles-Greece (District 4)  
> Victoire-Seychelles (District 4)  
> Mathias-Denmark (District 5)  
> Erik-Iceland (District 5)  
> Kiku- Japan (District 6)  
> Sakura- Female Japan (District 6, sister to Kiku)  
> Elizaveta- Hungary (District 7)  
> Gilbert- Prussia (District 7)  
> District 8 Female (Unnamed)  
> Raivas- Latvia (District 8)  
> Lien- Vietnam (District 9)  
> Vash-Switzerland (District 9)  
> Feliks-Poland (District 10)  
> Toris-Lithuania (District 10)  
> Belle-Belgium (District 11)  
> Lars-Netherlands (District 11)
> 
> Mentors:  
> Sadiq-Turkey (Haymitch)  
> Julchen- Female Prussia (Cousin to Gilbert)  
> Felka- Female Poland (District 10 mentor, Feliks’ older sister)  
> Francis-France (District 4)  
> Yao-China (plays Cinna)
> 
> Citizens:  
> Tino- Finland (District 3, replaced by Berwald)  
> Louise- Female Germany (District 3, replaced by Ludwig)  
> Lukas-Norway (District 5; brother to Erik)  
> Roderich- Austria (District 7; Elizaveta’s boyfriend)  
> Peter-Sealand (District 8, friend of Raivas)  
> Lili-Liechtenstein (District 9, replaced by Vash)  
> Romulus- Ancient Rome (deceased; father of Lovina and Feliciana Vargas)  
> Feliciana- Female Italy (District 12, replaced by Lovina)  
> Alaric- Germania (District 12; friend of Romulus)
> 
> Avox:  
> Meimei- Taiwan


	7. Chapter 7

**District 12- Lovina**

If I don’t find water soon, it won’t matter that I didn’t get the bow. I’ll be dead, killed by the elements.

My tongue feels like sandpaper and my throat aches. I don’t understand why Sadiq doesn’t just send me water. Surely we have at least a few sponsors? Is he trying to get me killed off?

No, Sadiq wouldn’t do that. Not if he’s sober. I have to trust that he is. He must know something that I don’t. He can see the arena from multiple angles; I can only see what’s in front of me. And right now, all I see is a whole lot of fucking trees. 

Just as I think I can’t go on any longer, something squelches underfoot. Mud. If there’s mud, there has to be water. No wonder Sadiq didn’t do anything.

“Bastard,” I mumble under my breath. I wander weakly a few more feet and almost step in the small spring, covered in pond lilies. I want to guzzle down the sweet liquid, but then I remember the iodine in my pack. As thirsty as I am, this water won’t help if it’s contaminated.

I purify the water and, after an excruciating half-hour wait, drink greedily, refilling the bottle before standing up.

I could stop here for the night. There are trees to sleep in, and fish in the shallows for food. There aren’t any other footprints in the mud.

It’s still early in the day, but now that I’ve found water, where exactly am I going to go? I might as well stay put and assess the situation. I won’t be able to stay here long—I don’t want to leave any trace of my being here—but it’s the perfect stopover. If only I had more bottles for water.

**District 5: Erik**

I’ve been sitting in a tree for hours, and still I can’t seem to get myself to move. I’m afraid that if I do, I’ll be found.

I was almost discovered earlier, when I carelessly walked right alongside the taller blond tribute from District 3. He might have seen me; I’m not sure. I haven’t seen him since, but he could easily be hiding below.

I try to calm my breathing, but to no avail. I have nothing—no supplies, no weapons, not even a single crumb of food. I ate all the licorice I had stashed away in my clothes before entering the arena. It only made me hungrier.

Below me, bushes rustle, and my heart stops. The Career Pack has set up camp below me, close enough that one false move will surely draw their attention upward. I focus all of my energy on keeping completely still, and it isn’t long before my legs feel cramped and ready to give out. My arms, which are bracing me in the tree, are quivering with use, and there are muscles twitching in my rear and my feet. I’m exhausted, but I won’t be able to sleep tonight if I value my life.

Down below, the Careers have made a fire. There’s clearly safety in numbers, and only the most skilled tributes are allowed in the Career Pack, so there’s no danger in making a fire. But I’m afraid they’ll look up at the sparks and see me in the light.

One of them sighs. “No kills today. How disappointing.”

“And boring!” It’s the girl from District One. She’s grinning, despite her words. “I wanted to kill some wimps today. I want to try this out!” She holds up a silver bow.

“Give it to me,” the other girl says. She plucks the weapon out of the first girl’s hand and slings it over her shoulder, where it rests next to a matching quiver full of arrows. “You don’t know how to use it.”

“I can learn!”

“We don’t have time for learning.”

I want desperately to move my legs, maybe curl them up above the branch where they’ll be out of sight. If only I could climb higher…

Suddenly, something silver whips by, inches from my nose. It embeds itself with a _thump_ in the bark next to my hand. I freeze, holding my breath, sure that the Careers must have heard that. But they just keep chatting.

Slowly, I turn my head to the right, where the object—I can see now that it’s a throwing star—came from. At first, I can’t see anything but shadows and leaves. Then I glimpse eyes, shining in the firelight, and then a body. It’s the male tribute from District 6 hiding in the tree next to mine, and he’s staring intently, one hand on a long, thin, curved sword, the other holding a branch to keep him steady. His eyes flicker down to the fire and back to me, as if he’s warning me to stay quiet. Like I need reminding.

Still watching me, he moves his sword hand from the sheathed weapon to a pouch at his waist. He removes another couple of throwing stars and hurls them into the darkness, way beyond the firelight. I know they have landed when I here bushes rustling under the impact. It sounds remarkably like someone has taken a careless step.

Down below, the Careers tense. They quickly grab their weapons and, leaving only a single guard, race off in pursuit of an imaginary foe.

The boy in the tree is beckoning to me now, motioning for me to jump. I shake my head. There’s no way I can make it across the gap from my tree to his tree, much less do it without alerting the guard. He simply motions more insistently.

After a few seconds, he holds out his arms. He’ll catch me. But I don’t trust him. We’re both tributes; there can be only one winner of the Hunger Games. Why should he help me? What motivation is there? Perhaps this is all a plan to kill me. I’ll fall to the ground, and he’ll escape silently through the trees without shedding a single drop of blood.

My limbs are too tired to propel me, but if I stay here, I’m bound to fall. My only chance is to jump, and even that’s not much of a chance.

I fight the urge to close my eyes and precariously stand up as best I can. I move so there are fewer branches in between me and the other tribute and, before I lose my nerve, I leap.

Immediately, I’m sure I’m going to fall. I can already feel myself descending. Then strong arms catch me under the shoulders, sending pain ripping through one of them, and I’m lifted into the branches. Down below, the guard glances up, but seems to think nothing of it.

Before I can even nod a thank you, the boy turns me around, grips my shoulder, and tugs. Hard.

I grit my teeth to avoid screaming, but a pained squeal comes out. This time, the guard really does look up. Now that he’s looking at me, I can see his face, and identify him as Antonio Carriedo, the District 12 tribute.

He doesn’t see me, thought. It’s too dark. For some reason, he doesn’t bother to check the tree. Maybe he thinks it’s an animal, or maybe he thinks it’s his friend from the districts. Even I know that he’s making a stupid move.

I’m suddenly aware that my shoulder doesn’t hurt anymore. I rub it. Everything’s fine.

The next thing I know, the District 6 tribute has a hand wrapped around my wrist, and he’s tugging me from branch to branch, leading me away from the fire the Careers have made. I can’t figure out why he still wants me with him. If I had any choice, I’d probably stay behind once we put a few feet of distance between us and the campsite, but this boy seems to have a different idea. It’s almost dawn before he stops moving and releases my wrist. We’re now on much sturdier branches, and I’m able to sit with my legs dangling comfortably. Despite the way he sits himself, both hands on his knees, I keep my guard up. It’s a matter of inches for him to reach his sword.

“What do you want with me?” I ask him. He’s said nothing this entire time, and it’s making me nervous. Silence is something I grew up with, but it’s not what I want right now; I want answers, and fast. Who knows which direction the Careers are going to go? They’ll probably start searching for whoever threw the star.

“You were in a bad position. It would be rude to leave you.”

“It would be expected. We’re enemies.”

“Only if we regard each other as such. You do not pose a threat to me, so I do not see you as my enemy.”

Perhaps he doesn’t realize that he’s insulted me. Whatever he’s thinking is hidden behind his unchanging expression. It’s almost like he doesn’t have emotions.

It would be unnerving. But I’m used to it. Lukas has the same sort of eyes, ones that always seem unfocused, as if they’re staring at nothing and everything at the same time. But his are less so, because they’re blue and easy to see. In the darkness, this boy’s eyes seem to disappear.

“Then what am I?”

The boy’s fist is clenched. His jaw is set in grim determination and his hair blows slightly in the breeze.

“If you agree, you are my ally, for as long as it takes to rid the arena of the Careers. I have a score to settle with them.”

“It’s about your sister, isn’t it?”

“Yes. I made the mistake of assuming she was awake enough to follow. I left her behind to die. I will never forgive those people for slaying her, and I will not rest until I can avenge her.” He looks at me. “You are not safe alone. I cannot work alone. Alliance is the best option.”

“What could I possibly do to help you?” I don’t know what makes me say it. It’s probably the last thing I should be saying, if I value my life.

“Distraction, maybe. I also noticed that there were quite a few birds a few feet away from you. They were perfectly silent, not moving a muscle, as if they knew that you needed absolute quiet. Did you own a bird in your home?”

I shake my head. “I’ve never had a pet in my life.”

The boy rubs his head. “Strange. I sense an affinity.”

Sense? What is he talking about?

“Perhaps I should introduce myself,” he says. He holds out a hand and bows his head. “Kiku Honda.”

I place my hand in his, shaking a bit before releasing it. “Erik Steillson.”

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Steillson.”

“Just Erik, thanks.”

**District 10-Toris**

I wake up to a wall of fire bearing down on me.

This can’t be a natural fire. I know, from watching previous Games, that there are times when the Gamemakers will throw in extra challenges. Perhaps, because there haven’t been enough deaths, they want to force us together.

I leave my water bottles and run, as fast as I can, away from the swiftly-moving flames. There are animals around me, deer and rabbits, and I wish I could move as fast as them. They aren’t stopped by fallen branches; they can just bound over or under them. I can feel the heat on my back, the burn of an ember on my skin. Up ahead, there’s a large rock that is slanted away from the fire. Perhaps I can hide there, if I can just make it.

My shirt catches fire, but I keep running until I can roll behind the rock. The flames burst past me as I tumble around, extinguishing the flames that are threatening to cover me and pushing away any dead leaves that might fuel the fire around me. I rip my shirt off and step on what’s left of the flames until all that’s left is a dirty, charred corpse of a shirt. It’s all that I have, though, so I put it back on.

After five minutes, I realize that I’m not alone. Shivering in the shadows is a small boy with curly hair and large eyes, staring at me in fear. It takes me a second to recognize him: it’s the boy from District Eight, Raivas Galante.

Part of me knows that this is my chance. If I’m going to kill him, I should do it now. I could push him out into the flames, let him burn. I could smash his head against a rock. But all of me is telling me that, if I do it, I’ll never be able to live with myself. I’d throw myself into the flames with him.

I just can’t kill people. It’s as simple as that, but it’s taken me this long to realize it.

I scoot closer to him so we sit side-by-side and look out at the burning forest as if watching the sun set or the waves crashing upon a beach. “I won’t hurt you.”

He seems to relax a bit. “R-really? You’d r-really d-do that for me?”

_It’s not just for you. It’s for me, too._ Instead I nod. “I know it seems silly, but how about we form an alliance? It’ll be easier to survive if we watch each other’s backs.”

His eyes light up and he jumps at the chance. While he’s beaming and promising not to get in the way, I smile, but inside I’m wondering why I always get myself into messes like this. How am I supposed to watch over a kid when I can’t even take care of myself?

**District 12-Lovina**  

Just as I think I’ve found peace, just as I’ve strapped myself in for the night, the smoke carries to my nostrils. I scramble out of my sleeping bag, shove as much as I can in, and run before I can catch sight of the fire.

_Damn Gamemakers. Damn Capitol. Damn everything!_

I’m being moved from my little paradise because the audience is bored. Who cares about winning? I just want to punch someone’s face in.

As I run, I catch glimpses of other tributes. I see one go down, but I can’t tell who it is. And at the moment, I don’t really care.

**District 4- Victoire**

I barely keep ahead of the fire. Finally, it stops moving forward, and I sit down by a tree, out of reach of the flames. I watch it, like one would a camp fire. I hate fire; I’m so used to water that a fire without a way to put it out terrifies me. And yet, I can’t stop watching it.

Just as my adrenaline is winding down, I hear something roaring, and suddenly a fireball grows larger and larger, heading straight towards me.

Just in time, I dodge behind a rock, missing the flaming projectile by mere feet. The next hiss comes, and I throw myself to the ground, letting the fireball hit a tree to the left. I scramble back up and look frantically, listen with growing panic, for another hiss. When it comes, I dodge while I run back, trying to get out of range, however far that is. I wonder, momentarily, how many other tributes are in my position. I almost hope I’m the only one. It would definitely make my death stand out.

I have no idea in which direction I’m running. I could be running straight towards my death, but I’m also running away from it, and at the moment, I have no choice. I have to keep running, even if my lungs burn and my legs ache with exhaustion.

Finally, I am the fireballs die down, and I stop to retch behind a tree. There’s nothing to come up, only stomach acid that burns my esophagus and causes convulsions. I’m miserable, my lungs filled with smoke and devoid of oxygen. I can taste the ashes of the trees that went up in flames. I finish gagging, and sit back in shock, when the hissing registers.

On instinct, I lunge, but this time I don’t move fast enough, and the fireball explodes near my side, sending me flying backwards just as another fireball skids along my right calf. I scream in pain until I land, when the wind is knocked out of me. I manage to roll across the ground to put out most of the fire, and then struggle out of my pants and toss the burning fabric away. They land in a puddle of flame, and catch on fire again, shattering any hopes of salvaging them. I’m now in my underwear, in the wilderness, with a horribly burned leg. And the Gamemakers have stopped firing, which means there has to be another tribute in this area.

I have to ignore the pain and keep moving, but I’m not sure I can. Despite the cameras I know are watching me, I break down in tears, wiping frantically at my face to hide it. I know that, back home, my family must be disgusted at my behavior, but at the moment, I don’t care at all. I want to be home.

Something bops my head lightly, and I look up. It’s a silver parachute, with a small jar attached to it. One of the sponsors has sent me a gift.

I reach for it and inspect it. It’s a jar of salve, for my wound. Someone cares enough about me to want me to win. Or maybe Francis doesn’t want his district to look bad. Either way, I look up and whisper, “Thank you” before slathering on the soothing cream.

I know this has probably only served to make me look weak, but I don’t care, not now. I’m injured. I need help, and Francis has given it to me.

I’ve never had to deal with a burn before. How ironic: a girl of the sea, on fire. What a laugh the Gamemakers must be having.

I see something moving at a fast pace away from me, and catch a glimpse of chocolate-brown hair. Only one girl in the arena has hair that color: Lovina Vargas. The girl who let me go.

The girl on fire, leaving unscathed. If I call out, will she spare me? Or was once her limit?

I let her go. I’m too tired to move, or call out. I just want to sleep, even though I’m fully exposed.

I make myself get up, ignoring the residual pain in my calf. The salve only works to ease the pain, not to heal, and I know I’m going to need to bandage it and, more pressingly, clean it. And for that, I need water.

All life revolves around water. It’s the most powerful element. It can shape the earth, provide for and destroy life, extinguish fires, and make lightning more powerful. It can exist in many forms and both transport and hinder. It provides food and swallows you up. Everything in District Four was connected to the water, and I’ve learned to turn to water to help me. I just have to remember to purify the water before I drink it.

**District 7- Elizaveta**

I’ve taken a page out of the Vargas girl’s book and climbed a tree for the night, even though it hasn’t even begun to turn dark yet. I don’t want to make the same mistake as the girl from District 6. I’m a bit leery of falling out, but it’s worth a shot. I drift off to sleep effortlessly, regardless of the daylight..

When I wake up, I hear voices. Loud voices. Voices filled with confidence. And it’s way before nightfall.

I peer down through the darkness to the foot of the tree, and wish I hadn’t: the Careers are now parked underneath my tree, and they don’t look like they’ll be moving any time soon.

Before I can pull my head back, one of them looks up. “Well, look who it is! Little Miss Heartthrob!” The girl laughs at her own joke.

“How are you today?” I ask. I can’t think of anything else to say. I do my best to avoid Gilbert’s eyes.

“I’m fine,” Antonio says. “Yourself?”

“A bit tired, actually. It’s very comfortable in this tree, you know.”

“Maybe I’ll join you!” He starts to climb.

“Hold it, Twelve,” the boy from District 1 says. “Let me handle this one.” It’s clear he’s put himself in charge.

“Maybe you should take this,” says the sullen silver-blonde girl from 2. She looks worse; I imagine the loss of her brother has hit her hard. She hands a silver bow and arrows to the boy and steps back.

Try as he might, the boy can’t reach me, and his aim with the arrows is laughable. I pluck them out of the air before they can fall back to earth.

There’s a sudden pain in my arm. I cry out and pull an arrow from my shoulder, pressing my hand to the wound to stem the flow of blood. I tense up, ready for another shot, but the boy is out of arrows.

While the Careers are discussing what to do about me, I rip a section from my shirt and tie it around my wound. The arrow didn’t penetrate deep enough to do serious damage, but it will definitely be inconvenient.

The silver-haired girl starts climbing, digging knives into the tree bark as she goes. I throw arrows and twigs at her until she relents and slides back down. Then the boy from District 4 half-heartedly pokes at me with his trident. Gilbert does nothing.

The Careers try climbing a few more times but make no progress before twilight arrives and impedes their vision. After the anthem (I now know why the silver-haired girl’s brother is missing—he’s the tribute who died in the fire), Gilbert suggests they wait for morning. It’s not like I’m going anywhere.

He’s right, mostly. The only place I might go is down. I’m so weak from hunger, thirst, and exhaustion that it’s all I can do to wedge myself into a fork in the tree and fall asleep.

I wake up very early the next morning, before the Career Pack, and notice something moving among the leaves in a tree across the clearing. Something long and stick-like, attached to something much more humanoid.

There’s a tribute in the tree, holding a rifle.

How did he get one of those? There are never any guns in the arena. They are too quick a method of killing to be any fun for the audience, and guns are prohibited in the districts. Yet the boy seems perfectly at ease with the weapon, holding it as if he’s been using guns his whole life.

And he’s pointing it right at me.

I meet his eyes, which are green. Not the same shade as mine; my mother told me that my eyes, which she called “true green”, are a rarity. The other tribute flicks his eyes upward, somewhere above my head, and looks back.

I chance it, and look away, knowing full well that he could shoot me at any moment. Provided he has ammo, of course.

There’s a bees’ nest above me. But as I look closer, I realize it can’t be a bee’s nest. The Gamemakers would never put in such docile creatures. It has to be a tracker jacker nest, it’s inhabitants still groggy from the smoke produced by yesterday’s fire. The nest is what the tribute is aiming for.

As quickly and quietly as I can, I scramble to a lower branch on the other side of the tree, ready to spring. I know exactly what he’s planning, because I would do the same.

Our gazes meet again, and I nod. The boy lifts his weapon, closes one eye, and pulls the trigger.

The sound sends birds flying from their roosts. The bullet slices right through the top of the nest, disconnecting it from the branch and sending it hurtling towards the ground, bashing into other branches on the way down. I can hear the buzzing growing more insistent. Then the nest smashes to pieces.

I feel a sting, and another. Across the way, I see the other tribute scrambling away, but he receives a few stings as well.

Directly below me, the Careers are in a panic, woken by the painful stinging of the tracker jackers. Some shout, “The lake, hurry!” and I know they’re hoping to avoid the stings by taking to the water. If that’s their plan, the lake must be close. The girl with the bow drops it in her rush to escape, already twitching, clearly under the hallucinatory effects of the tracker jacker venom. If she lives, it’ll be a miracle.

I scramble down the tree, my head reeling from the venom of my own stings. I want desperately to find water, because I’m even thirstier, but in the back of my mind, I remember the bow. I’m not used to using one, but I can’t let the Careers retrieve it, no matter how incompetent they are with it.

Even as I pick up the bow, I begin to see green sludge oozing out of the ground and orange growths all over the trees, creeping towards me. The bow feels like it weighs a ton, and I can hardly grip the fistful of silver arrows. Everything is spinning, faster and faster, until I collapse, unable to judge which way is up. It’s hard to breathe. I hear footfalls, several pairs, and I know it’s the Careers, coming back for their dropped weapons and supplies. I’m going to be killed, and I can’t even move. All I can do is turn my head.

Instead of the Career Pack, only one person stumbles into the clearing. Gilbert. What’s he doing? He’s not even armed. Why does he look so shocked?

“What the hell are you doing here, Liz? Go! Get out of here!” He’s lifting me up, and now he’s pushing me. “Run!” he’s screaming. “Run!”

Before I can, the boy from District 1 comes crashing through the bushes. I take off, tripping as I go, scratching at my arms as fire ants burrow into my skin, screaming my head off. Finally, I collapse to the ground, sliding into a puddle, and everything goes black as the ants bore into my eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh, this was so much fun to write, and yet so hard. But hey, we finally get some action! And more characters! 
> 
> The characters that are struck through are not the ones who die in this chapter. Any characters that die are struck out of the list in the chapter after, so no one who peeks at the character assignments will find any spoilers. 
> 
> Tributes:  
> Lovina Vargas-Female South Italy (District 12)  
> Antonio- Spain (District 12)  
> Alfred Jones-America (District 1)  
> Emily Jones- Female America (District 1)  
> Ivan Braginski- Russia (District 2)  
> Natalia - Belarus (District 2, sister to Ivan)  
> Ludwig- Germany (District 3; friend of Louise)  
> Berwald- Sweden (District 3)  
> Heracles-Greece (District 4)  
> Victoire-Seychelles (District 4)  
> Mathias-Denmark (District 5)  
> Erik-Iceland (District 5)  
> Kiku- Japan (District 6)  
>  ~~Sakura- Female Japan (District 6, sister to Kiku)~~  
>  Elizaveta- Hungary (District 7)  
> Gilbert- Prussia (District 7)  
>  ~~District 8 Female (Unnamed)~~  
>  Raivas- Latvia (District 8)  
> Lien- Vietnam (District 9)  
> Vash-Switzerland (District 9)  
> Feliks-Poland (District 10)  
> Toris-Lithuania (District 10)  
>  ~~Belle-Belgium (District 11)~~  
>  Lars-Netherlands (District 11)
> 
> Mentors:  
> Sadiq-Turkey  
> Julchen- Female Prussia (Cousin to Gilbert)  
> Felka- Female Poland (District 10 mentor, Feliks’ older sister)  
> Francis-France (District 4)  
> Yao/China-China (plays Cinna)
> 
> Citizens:  
> Tino- Finland (District 3, replaced by Berwald)  
> Louise- Female Germany (District 3, replaced by Ludwig)  
> Lukas-Norway (District 5; brother to Erik)  
> Roderich- Austria (District 7; Elizaveta’s boyfriend)  
> Peter-Sealand (District 8, friend of Raivas)  
> Lili-Liechtenstein (District 9, replaced by Vash)  
> Romulus- Ancient Rome (deceased; father of Lovina and Feliciana Vargas)  
> Feliciana- Female Italy (District 12, replaced by Lovina)  
> Alaric- Germania (District 12; friend of Romulus)
> 
> Avox:  
> Meimei- Taiwan


	8. Chapter 8

**District 10** - **Toris**

We never left the rock, even after the fire burned out. I wake up to find that Raivas has curled up against my back, facing away from me, as if afraid of seeming too presumptuous. I edge away to relieve myself, hoping I don’t wake him up. The poor guy needs some sleep.

When I come back, he’s opening a packet of dried beef. He takes a bit and hands the rest to me. “Here. I know it’s not much of a breakfast, but it’s what I’ve got.”

I shake my head, even though I’m starving. “You eat it. You need your strength. I can…I can go find a rabbit or something.” It’s a lie; I can’t make snares, so unless I find someone else’s, I’m going hungry today.

Raivas does eat more, but he leaves a good amount of beef for me and insists he’s not hungry, even though I know he is.

“I have one more bag of it in here,” he says, patting his shirt, which he’s tucked into his pants. “We can eat it tonight for dinner.”

“Good idea.” He’s thinking ahead. Maybe he’s not completely helpless.

Raivas stretches as he gets up, grunting in pleasure as his muscles wake up. He’s smiling for the first time, and I feel a pang of guilt. One of us is going to have to die if the other hopes to win. I can’t kill him, and it’s going to get harder if I get to know him. I _think_ he wouldn’t kill me, but I don’t know Raivas. He might be dangerous, and simply a great actor. He might turn out like Feliks, and defy all expectations.

“Which way should we go?” I ask.

Raivas considers our options, then points. “We should head that way, towards the Cornucopia. We can see if there’s anything left there, and I’d like to get as far away from the source of the fire as possible. Plus, there’s a lake in that direction, and we’ll need water. It’ll be an easy walk for a while, since it’s downhill, though there will be some bumping.” He’s speaking as if rattling off facts. I remember that District 6 is in charge of transportation, and wonder if these are things Raivas studied in school.

I see no reason to object, so I let Raivas lead the way, holding my sword at the ready. Raivas is unarmed; I’ll have to act as a guard for both of us.

**District 3-Ludwig**

I made it through the not-so-bloodbath at the Cornucopia. The more I think about it, the more I realize that I was the reason for the low death rate: when I charged for the horn, even the Careers shied away, and didn’t try to land a single blow. Berwald followed me, and we both were able to get away with as much as we needed, and possibly more. By the time we were finished, some of the weaker-looking tributes had cleared away, and the Careers were waiting in a huddle for us to leave. I saw one of them, Gilbert, watching me closely. He alone smiled when I passed.

After we reached the forest, Berwald and I parted ways. I’m unarmed, with a large backpack that I’ve packed in just the right way to carry as much of my supplies as space-efficiently as possible, with my canteens tied onto the straps and a warm pair of boots tied by the strings for nighttime. I’ve got binoculars and a hat, gloves, and some thread and needle to patch up clothing. There are spare clothes in the pack, with food, more water, and other supplies, and I’ve tied a sleeping bag to the top of the pack. Whoever kills me will gain a ready-made survival pack.

Even though I’ve seen people die, brutally murdered by knives and bludgeons, I’m still determined to lose the Games. I can’t go back to District 3. Even with Louise, it’ll be unbearable. Someone may even try to murder me. It’s better that Berwald go home. At least he and Tino can be together, if the Capitol lets him go.

I can no longer see the Cornucopia, and I know I’m still far enough away from the edge of the fire from yesterday. There shouldn’t be too many tributes in my vicinity.

Even as I think that, I leaves crunching underfoot. Through a large gap between two trees, I see Lovina Vargas staring at me, fear written in every line of her face.

The fear soon morphs into anger and hatred. I don’t know what I’ve done to offend this girl, but her hatred doesn’t bother me. It’s not like the sheer terror and ill wishes of the people in District 3. She’s really, truly _angry_ , and she’s not afraid to let me know it, even if she hasn’t acted on it. Yet.

The girl gets into a fighting stance, on the defensive, like she thinks I’m going to attack her. Just like everyone else, she’s terrified of what I can do.

Maybe she isn’t all that different. Maybe she just can’t hide her emotions.

What do I know of District 12? The men are coal miners. I don’t know what life is like there. In District 3, we all learn to work on electronics, perfecting specialized skills that make us important to the government. District 12 can be replenished by sending troublemakers to the coal mines. They’re disposable labor.

It’s a wonder that the desperation of living there doesn’t create more winners.

I look at the girl for a long time, trying to figure out what’s going on in her head. I wish I had a manual for analyzing personalities. After a while, though, I nod at her, and walk off. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her straighten and stare.

She, like everyone else, was not expecting me to let her go.

Somehow, I doubt that her opinion of me has changed. 

**District 12-Lovina**

I can’t figure that Ludwig fellow out. He’s a hulking brute, and if he were from anywhere other than District 3, I’d say he was all brawn and no brain; he’s got muscles, he seems to lack any emotion other than cold fury, and he’s unpredictable. I should have known, when I saw him for the first time, volunteering for that girl, that he would be a mystery.

_Why did you let me go?_ These Games must be excruciating for the audience. So few deaths, and so many times when a tribute just let’s another kid go. It’s like no one wants to win this time.

I remember, suddenly, how bizarre Ludwig acted during training. He lifted weights, and studied edible plants and knot-tying, but he never even attempted sword-fighting or any other type of combat. He read as much as he could and never hurt anyone.

Is it possible that he is a “gentle giant”? No, nobody is really like that. Every single district is so fucked up that anyone as strong as Ludwig has to be a killer.

_So why didn’t you kill me?_

**District 5-Erik**

Kiku leads me through the forest for a long time before we emerge in a field. Finally, I need a break.

“Kiku?"

“Hm?”

“Can we stop? I need to use the bathroom.”

“Hai.”

“Um…hello?”

“Hai means yes.”

“Oh.”

When I come back, Kiku is standing straight, looking much less relaxed.

“Is there something wrong?”

“Please forgive my rudeness.”

“What?”

“It has to be done.”

Kiku reaches down and pulls out his sword.

“There can only be one victor.”

“Wait,” I say frantically, backing up. “Can’t we just talk this over?”

He shakes his head. “I’m afraid this is how it has to be.”

He lunges.

**In District 5...**

Lukas gasps and stumbles backwards, a hand over his mouth. Someone behind him catches him before he can fall to the ground in the Square. Peacekeepers are watching; weakness will be dealt with.

“No.” Lukas’s normally emotionless eyes are full of shock. “ _NO!”_

A strained sob chokes its way up, and Lukas is trying to reach the large screen, fighting the crowd of stronger men forcing him back, trying to take him home. He’s screaming, over and over again, “No! No, please, no!” But the image on the screen stays the same.

Lukas collapses. His knees give out, and he’s sagging to the ground, still being tugged by the other citizens. His screams are now whispers, choked sobs like the first. Even the Peacekeepers, normally immune to the screams of parents whose children have died, are bothered. They clearly cannot wait for the camera to change to a different view.

Lukas screws his eyes shut and tries to breathe, but he can’t stop seeing it.

**District 5-Erik**

My eyes shut on their own, but when I don’t feel any pain, I open them. There isn’t a sword through my midsection. There isn’t a single wound on my body.

In front of me, the point of the sword sticking out through the back of his long coat, is Mathias. He’s breathing heavily and clutching his axe, but he’s _grinning_. Darkly.

Kiku’s eyes widen.

“Is that all you’ve got, Six?” Mathias whispers. He hefts the axe. “Sorry, but that’s not gonna be enough.”

He charges, but Kiku ducks under the sweeping blade and grasps the handle of the sword before yanking it out of Mathias’s stomach, unleashing a flood of blood. Mathias flinches, and Kiku swings down, aiming for an arm, but Mathias raises his axe to block. Kiku thrusts again, and is blocked again. Then Mathias brings the axe down, and it’s all the dark-haired can do to hold the blade off. Another swing and the sword goes flying. Soon, so does Kiku’s head.

I can no longer tell whose blood is whose. Mathias is covered in it, head to toe, and his wound is still bleeding. He stumbles towards me before swaying and toppling over backwards with a grunt of pain. I run to him.

“Mathias!”

“Hey, kid. How are you?”

“Why did you do it, Mathias?”

Mathias grins. “Can’t let you die, kid. Lukas would kill me.” He tries to laugh, but it hurts too much. “I’d rather you make it than me.”

“There has to be something I can do. How do I stop the bleeding?”

“It’s too late for me. Just go.” He tries to hand me the axe. “Take it, Erik. Take it.”

“No. You need it.”

“I’m done, Erik. Please. Do this one last thing for me, and take the axe.”

I hesitate, but do as he says. I’m not even trying to hide my tears.

Mathias slides a long knife out of his pocket. “I left my stuff behind that rock over there.” He points. “I want you to go and get it. And don’t look back, okay?”

“Why?”

“Just don’t. Whatever you do, _don’t look back_.”

I nod, and, wiping tears as I run, I go and retrieve Mathias’s things. Behind me, I hear a strangled yelp, and I suddenly understand what Mathias is doing. I grit my teeth to keep from crying out; my throat feels bloated, stuffed up with pent-up grief. My mouth has gone dry and my eyes, in contrast, are overflowing with water. I grab the backpack and run as fast and as far as I can, away from the clearing, away from the betrayal and the loss and the pain.

It’s still not far enough.

**District 7-Elizaveta**

By the time the first cannon goes off, I’m awake, the effects of the tracker jacker venom gone. When the second cannon goes off, I force my stiff body to rise. I need to find shelter, and fast. The Careers are going to be furious with me now, even if none of them were killed by the tracker jackers—and I’m not entirely sure about that. Could one of the cannons be Gilbert? It’s no use thinking about it. I force all thought of cannons out of my mind.

I’ve only got my frying pan and the bow and arrows. I don’t know how to use the latter, and the former will be useless against a sword, or a gun, for that matter.

What happened to the boy in the tree? Did he get stung, too? Why did he help me? Maybe he had been planning to shoot down the nest anyway, and when I saw him, he figured it was better to warn me. But that doesn’t make sense. That would mean he cared about whether I lived.

Five deaths so far. There should have been more. I can’t recall ever watching a Hunger Games where the first few days weren’t a complete bloodbath. Less than half of us are gone.

My first priority, right now, is food. I don’t know how sanitary the water in this puddle is, so I don’t think I should drink it. Maybe I can set a trap for a rabbit? Do I have anything to make a snare?

Of course not. All my supplies are up in that tree. I don’t want to go back; there could still be tracker jackers in the area, and I don’t want a repeat of last night. It might kill me this time.

I walk for a bit until I find a river, and follow it upstream. I can maybe catch a few fish with a very pointed stick, and running water is less likely to be contaminated. With luck, I can find shelter nearby.

Suddenly, another cannon goes off. The third death today. The tempo of execution has sped up. Now the audience will be glued to their screens, tempted by the promise of more death to come.

I do some quick math and realize there are now eighteen tributes in the arena. Still far too many.

**In the Capitol...**

Every day, Sadiq was either out talking to sponsors or waiting by the phones. He hardly ate, and he only slept when China or Effie forced him to.

In the wake of the interview of Gilbert Beilschmidt, sponsors had lined up to support the District 7 tributes. It was all Sadiq could do to grab a dozen.

China watched with growing dismay as the sponsors fled to District 7’s aid. He had hoped that his designs might help District 12—the “girl on fire” bit had been planned for years—but he knew that there was nothing more he could do except keep Sadiq from running himself into the ground.

Oramela, District Four’s stylist, visited China once, begging him for tips and secrets. He held her off politely for as long as he could stand to before shoving her out the door with a cup of tea and a tactful request to never come back. Even so, China found that his phone was often full of messages from the stylist. He never read any of them.

When both of District Six’s tributes were eliminated, the mentors went home, and a few sponsors came over to support District 12. Quite a few left District 5 when Mathias died—his suicide at the very end irritated some sponsors. But there still wasn’t enough money to guarantee a win.

Sadiq grew even more frantic.

**District 5-Erik**

I spend the rest of the day hiding between two large rocks, trying not to cry and failing miserably. I don’t doubt there is camera coverage here.

Mathias’s supplies consist of a packet of dried fruit, a couple of smoked fish, a few knives, a raincoat, a roll of wire, a water-proof blanket, iodine, and two canteens full of fresh water. The pack and the axe rest on the ground next to me, untouched since I set them down. There hasn’t been a reason to move them.

I don’t know which is worse: the fact that Mathias is dead, or the fact that he killed himself. He told me to run because he wanted to die faster. I recall the words of the first aid instructor in the Training Room:

“Stomach wounds take a very long time to kill, moreso if the weapon is left in. It’s painful, and without proper medical treatment, there is no hope of recovery. Do not waste time on someone who has been impaled through the stomach.”

At the time, I hoped desperately that it wouldn’t happen to me. Mathias must have worked extra hard not to show any pain or fear. He fought through the pain to kill Kiku. He did so much for me, and in the end, instead of asking me to kill him, he made me run. It must have been hard to kill himself.

At first, I’m angry. Mathias should have let me die. It was selfish of him to put himself in harm’s way, and to kill himself. He’s left behind people who care about him. But after all he’s done, maybe he deserves to be selfish.

Why am I always so ungrateful? All my life, I’ve been provided for. Both Mathias and Lukas have done so much for me. They’ve gone without food, water, warm clothes, and all I ever did was complain.

If anyone deserves to die, it’s me.

The anthem plays, and I crawl out of the rocks to see the sky. The first picture to appear is not Mathias, as I expected; it’s Victoire, the girl tribute from District 4. The one who was dressed as a mermaid. I wonder what happened. I find I don’t actually care.

Mathias. In the sky, he’s still grinning, full of life, even though it’s only a picture. I stare at it for as long as it remains. This is what I want my last image of Mathias to be. I think Mathias wanted that, too.

Lukas. I wonder how Lukas is doing. Was he watching? He’ll certainly be watching now. Is he crying? Is he angry? Does he wish I were dead instead? Or is he just as emotionless as he always appears, numb with shock? Is he all alone, or are there neighbors there to help him through it?

I wish I could send a message to Lukas. I don’t know what I would say—apologize, probably, for letting Mathias die—but I want to hear from him. I want him to know that I’ve changed. I’m not the whiny little kid he raised. Mathias’s death has changed me. I have to win. For Mathias, and for Lukas. And for revenge.

Not on Kiku. Mathias did that himself. No, I want something impossible: revenge on the Gamemakers. On the entire Capitol, for creating a situation in which Mathias could die. The world isn’t the same without Mathias. I can’t help but feel as if everything will be wrong until something is done to avenge his absence.

I go back between the rocks, but this time I don’t cry. This time I pull the blanket over me, grip the handle of the axe, and stare up at the stars through the trees. I will make it through tomorrow, and the next day. I won’t trust anyone, not anymore. I’ll make Mathias proud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tributes:  
> Lovina Vargas-Female South Italy (District 12)  
> Antonio- Spain (District 12)  
> Alfred Jones-America (District 1)  
> Emily Jones- Female America (District 1)  
>  ~~Ivan Braginski- Russia (District 2)~~  
>  Natalia - Belarus (District 2, sister to Ivan)  
> Ludwig- Germany (District 3; friend of Louise)  
> Berwald- Sweden (District 3)  
> Heracles-Greece (District 4)  
> Victoire-Seychelles (District 4)  
> Mathias-Denmark (District 5)  
> Erik-Iceland (District 5)  
> Kiku- Japan (District 6)  
>  ~~Sakura- Female Japan (District 6, sister to Kiku)~~  
>  Elizaveta- Hungary (District 7)  
> Gilbert- Prussia (District 7)  
>  ~~District 8 Female (Unnamed)~~  
>  Raivas- Latvia (District 8)  
> Lien- Vietnam (District 9)  
> Vash-Switzerland (District 9)  
> Feliks-Poland (District 10)  
> Toris-Lithuania (District 10)  
>  ~~Belle-Belgium (District 11)~~  
>  Lars-Netherlands (District 11)
> 
> Mentors:  
> Sadiq-Turkey  
> Julchen- Female Prussia (Cousin to Gilbert)  
> Felka- Female Poland (District 10 mentor, Feliks’ older sister)  
> Francis-France (District 4)  
> Yao/China-China (plays Cinna)
> 
> Citizens:  
> Tino- Finland (District 3, replaced by Berwald)  
> Louise- Female Germany (District 3, replaced by Ludwig)  
> Lukas-Norway (District 5; brother to Erik)  
> Roderich- Austria (District 7; Elizaveta’s boyfriend)  
> Peter-Sealand (District 8, friend of Raivas)  
> Lili-Liechtenstein (District 9, replaced by Vash)  
> Romulus- Ancient Rome (deceased; father of Lovina and Feliciana Vargas)  
> Feliciana- Female Italy (District 12, replaced by Lovina)  
> Alaric- Germania (District 12; friend of Romulus)
> 
> Avox:  
> Meimei- Taiwan

**Author's Note:**

> Lovina=Fem!South Italy  
> Feliciana=Fem!Italy  
> Sadiq Annan=Turkey  
> Antonio=Spain


End file.
